New Beginnings
by PanicButton
Summary: Follow up from The Saved. Getting to know each other when you're not who you used to be can be a problem when you dont remember that all important person. Slash language violence Spencer/OMC/OMC...
1. Chapter 1

**a/n: Follow up from The Saved. **

**I have no idea if this reads OK… **

1

The fifth floor of a slightly run down tenement wasn't the place Sam had wanted to live. He had argued with Spencer over this for weeks before they were finally evicted from their last place. The walls of the stairwell were covered in graffiti probably going back decades. There had in the past been weak attempts at covering up the most obscene of it, but the blobs of creamy paint just left a nice fresh surface for more tags, phone numbers and pictures of various body parts to be added. Sam could smell urine and sweat, the stale stink of alcohol and other smells he either couldn't or didn't want to place.

It was hot. Much too hot even for the summer. He'd seen on the news that people had been dying. He thought maybe someone had crawled under the stairs here and started to rot. It was _that_ bad today. Sam could also hear the distant sound of music… at least the base line of something _thump, thump, thumping_ through the air and that sound was getting louder the further up the stairs he jogged.

Sam was wearing knee length, black skinny jeans, a Tshirt with a faded logo over the front in a mix of different shades of blue and a pair of blue sandals on his feet. He had topped today's outfit with a pale blue cap over his hair which he'd tied back. He looked underweight and sick, with shadows under his eyes and bruises up his shins. He burst through the door on the fifth floor landing, looked at the three dark skinned, pissed off looking guys standing in the corridor and attempted to burst back through where he'd come from.

_Click, click_… guns out and pointing at him… Sam stood as though his feet had been coated in cement. 'Well, well, well… little brother returns.' A deep voice from one of the gun wielders spoke, another stepped forwards and Sam still didn't move. He heard the door snap shut behind him and from further down the corridor… "Burn baby burn…." Blared out… probably from behind the door of the apartment Sam lived in.

Slowly he raised his hands. 'I don't have anything.' He muttered.

It didn't seem to be the answer they wanted though. Sam was dragged into a small alcove, with a door saying _Dry Riser_ behind him. They wanted money. Always they want money. He had no idea how they found them this time, but he wondered if they just drove around the city listening for someone playing shitty music at a volume which would kill a normal person. They slapped him around the face… they gave him a hard fisted punch in the stomach and they took his wallet which had all the money he and Spencer had in the world. 'Why don't you leave us alone?' He groaned as his knees met with the floor.

'You two love birds owe money. We'll keep coming back till you've paid up.'

'He's my brother!' Sam exclaimed.

'Sure he is.' Laughter… the rustling of money being counted. 'Is this all you have?'

'It's everything.' He felt his cap being lifted from his head and a hand resting on the top of his greasy hair.

'You know if you just paid up when you were meant to, and stopped trying to run, we'd not have to come and get so boisterous with you.'

Sam let out a soft groan, wondering what they were going to do; knock his teeth out, break his nose, his arm? He wanted them to just get it the hell over with so he could go home and shout abuse at Spencer, but today they let him go. The empty wallet was dropped to the floor. It was red with a _hello kitty_ logo on the front.

'Fucking fag.' Someone muttered as the door slammed and the footsteps receded downwards.

He snatched up his wallet. 'I'm not a fag.' Sam muttered and got to his feet. The music had changed to some other ancient bit of disco music. Sam wiped angry tears from his face and swallowed back some blood from where his teeth had cut the inside of his cheek and slowly now, he walked to the door with the number 506 scratched into the paintwork. Sam slipped a key which was attached to his belt with a bit of elasticised cord, pushed open the door and walked into the noise.

First things first. He locked the door again, slipped the large metal bolt across the door and then fiddled with the alarm, turning it off and then on again. The red words _Alarm On_ flashed up. Sam rattled the door just to make sure and then went to find the source of the dreadful music.

Spencer didn't know that anyone was in the apartment until the music suddenly stopped. He was kneeling on the floor surrounded by old newspaper cuttings and notes scribbled on bits of lined paper he'd torn out of a note book. Spencer looked up at Sam and gave him a quizzical look. He could see by the look on Sam's face that something had happened. Spencer wiped his sweaty hands on his thighs and stood up, careful not to mess up the things on the floor.

'Something happened?' As he walked towards Sam, Sam moved back.

'You're high again.' Sam accused. 'Why do you do this shit? Why do you have to fuck everything up all the time? I had those fucking niggers pointing guns at me.' Sam took out his wallet and threw it at Spencer. 'They took our rent money and… and they took everything. We're broke again. If I could fucking trust you I'd not have cash on me.' It looked to Sam as though Spencer was going to say something, but he didn't wait to hear what it was and Spencer seemed to just be standing there grinding his teeth with wide eyes which just didn't seem to understand the situation they were in. Sam wanted a shower to get the feel of the hoodlums off him. They made his skin crawl. They made him feel sick, almost as much as Spencer made him feel sick.

'I've found…'

Sam walked into the bathroom and turned on the shower. 'I'm not interested in what you think you've found. You're fucking out of your head! That stuff you keep taking makes you fucking bonkers and it's going to get me killed if you cant pay for it. What the fuck do you think you're playing at? Shouldn't you be at work?'

Spencer leaned on the door frame and watched _little brother_ strip off for his shower. 'I called in sick, but Sam you really should see what I've found. We need to report it. The cops…'

'Never listen. Never will listen… and you know why? Because it's all in your fucking head! It's not real Spencer! You're as fucking gone in your head as your damned mother. You're insane and I only stick around because of some weird sense of… I dunno what it is…' Sam kicked off his sandals and pulled off the jeans. 'It's like we're meant to look out for each other, but you don't do a hell of a lot of looking out for, just a lot of looking.'

Spencer watched Sam step into the shower and shook his head. 'This is real.' Spencer said. He stepped into the bathroom, put the lid down on the toilet and sat as Sam had his shower. 'Just listen to me, please.' And as Sam didn't tell him to go away and let him shower in peace, Spencer carried on. 'Twenty years ago in New York five children went missing. The parents were found hung and the kids were just gone. Two different families. It was investigated, but the incidences happened over the course of about a year and nothing was ever found. The children were never recovered. The case went cold. Five years later…'

Sam stepped out of the shower and pulled a towel off a shelf. He wrapped it tightly around his middle and frowned. 'You're going to tell me that his happens in a cycle… you always do. It's always the fucking same. What are you expecting to find, Spencer?'

'A five year cycle. New York, Washington, Vegas…'

'And you're going to tell me that it's happening again? That some creepo out there takes kids only every five years or so? Fine… great. What's it got to do with us?'

'It's following me, Sam. Last week a couple were found murdered in their homes… the kids are missing. It's been reported as a murder, abduction… I think it's something else.'

'If you didn't keep topping up your fucking mind with methedrone you'd see that it is what it actually is… Some arsehole loon. Nothing to do with you and nothing to do with me.' Sam opened the medicine cabinet and then slammed it again. 'You've been at home all damned day and it didn't cross your mind to get toothpaste?'

'I've cross checked something else…'

'I'm not interested! Cant you get that through your skull! You're imagining it! You're paranoid and delusional. You're sick and I should get you locked up in a room next door to your mother. Fucking hell Spencer!'

'Adult males have been going missing… four have been reported. The same thing happens every time. The children and the murders, and the missing adult males. They've never connected it before.'

'Because there's nothing connecting them? Just think about it when you're having a shower. I'm going to get changed and go out and get some toothpaste, assuming there's some loose change somewhere, because - you remember… some fucks took all our money.'

Spencer followed Sam now back into the lounge. He hissed slightly through his teeth as Sam walked over his careful work of sorting out the clues he thought he'd found. Sam slumped down on the couch and looked around the scruffy room. Nothing belonged to them. They owned hardly anything of their own. The room was bare apart from the couch, a wooden chair by the fire exit door and a battered scuffed coffee table. Spencer sat on the chair by the fire escape door and nibbled on his bottom lip for a while. He watched Sam looking around the room and then saw his gaze settle on him.

'Where's the laptop?' Sam asked. 'Please tell me you didn't pawn the damned laptop. Please!'

'Sam…' Spencer needed to explain, but he didn't know how to start. Sam was always so angry. Always so on edge. Spencer was sure that Sam could feel that something was wrong. Sam was just as bothered about keeping their small home secure as Spencer was. He always set the alarm… never opened the few small windows. Always looking over his shoulder. Why would Sam be so scared if he didn't think that there was something out there?

Spencer watched Sam get back to his feet and walk to the only bedroom. It wasn't a room Sam ever slept in. He had long ago decided that the couch was a better place. Spencer had weird dreams and nightmares. At first it bothered Sam, but now he just found it annoying. Sleeping on the couch was the only way he could get a good night's sleep. His clothes though were in a pile on the floor of the overly hot room. Again Spencer followed him and watched, this time as Sam got dressed again, this time in slightly baggy jeans and a green vest top.

'You going out again?'

Sam shrugged. 'Is there food in the kitchen?' Spencer just gave him that hurt, blank look. 'Well, I'm going to go get us something to eat.'

'There's a few dollars in the coin jar.' Spencer pointed to the night stand.

'I'm going to need more than a few dollars. Set the alarm when I leave.'

'Sam…'

Sam was having none of it though. He was tired of excuses. Tired of Spencer's peculiar ways. Tired of having to go out and attempting to recover what Spencer had pawned. 'Just have a fucking shower and brew up some coffee. I'll be an hour at the most.'

o-o-o

On another day Sam might have felt that odd tingling on the back of his neck. He'd had it often… and more and more recently. It felt as though someone was following him, but he could never catch sight of who it was. He'd once, before they arrived in this lovely new neighbourhood, reported it to the police.

They laughed at him, told him to go away. They said that if he's going to dress the way he does and look the way he does, then it's not really surprising that someone might follow him. They asked him if he was on drugs or owed money.

But Sam knew that someone other than the people who took their money was following him. It was a different feeling. A dark feeling… like it was the very shadows watching him. It made the little hairs on the back of his neck stand up and sweat form on his brow, but tonight he felt nothing but the oppressive heat and a deep unforgiving anger directed at Spencer. The pawn shop was called Ozgards and during most days was run by the owner, a bloated elderly man with a tuft of yellowing grey hair behind his ears. He was a mean bit of work who took great pleasure in seeing the disappointment on your face when he offered the tiny amount of money for the item you wanted pawned. 'Take it or get out.' He'd say. During the evening though it was Ozgard Junior who had charge of the store and though they'd only been here a short while, Sam was already over familiar with the spotty yellow toothed man who looked a hell of a lot older than he actually was. Sam pushed the door of the place open. A small bell jingled and the ugly beast looked up from the magazine he'd been looking at. Sam couldn't actually say if the guy was reading it… he had doubts Junior could read… but there were lots of pictures to look at.

'Thought you'd be by.' A smile on Junior's face made Sam feel queasy.

He walked to the counter and scratched at the back of his neck. 'If you paid what things were worth then I'd not have to come back. You screw over my brother every damned time, so hand it back or give me what it's worth.'

Junior placed his hands on the glass topped counter. It was grimy and cracked along the top. Inside there was a collection of electronic goods people had pawned and failed to collect. 'If I was to give him what it's worth I'd hardly make a living now would I?'

'Then just give it back. You know he's not right in the head. You shouldn't take advantage of him.'

'I'll hand it back – for a price.'

Sam knew what that price was going to be. He glanced at the door and then at the door at the rear of the stuffy building. 'Fine. But use this.' Sam slapped a condom down on the counter, walked to the door, locked it and turned the sign around to _closed_.

o-o-o

He'd followed Sam to the corner of the block and then was going to go back and sit in the deepening shadows back at the tenement block the lads were living in. As he turned to go back again something caught his attention. A shout of surprise and a scuffling sound from the small side alley way between the buildings. He knew that he should have left it. It wasn't his business, but yeah, he was curious and so he walked quickly down into the dark, stinking heat; his boot heels clicking on the tarmac surface.

There is was again. A shout from a darkened doorway. A female shout. 'Get off me!' He could have been a hero and gone in to the rescue, but, no… decision made, this wasn't his business. If some whore got raped it was hardly anything to do with him now was it? He stood and listened to the sounds for a while. Someone struggling and that delightful sound of fist on flesh. It made Floyd's heart pound. He leaned back on the wall and tipped his head back, taking in long deep breaths, filtering out the shit and allowing the sweet scent of fear and sex in. It made him light headed… all he needed now was the sudden rush of blood… the sound of tearing flesh… the taste… that sweet, sweet taste. Not today though. The cries died off and the giggles started. Nothing to listen to… no life being torn from someone. At least not tonight. He thought he'd go see if Sam was still at the pawn shop, if not, he'd go back to the apartment and maybe introduce himself to the pair of them. He'd introduce himself quite violently – he'd get that scent of blood from those two if not from here. All he could smell now was wet cunny and lust. He pulled a smoke out of his pocket, took out his lighter and started to walk back down towards the street.

The pain tore through the back of his head. His hands went numb, dropping the smoke and lighter. The pain arrived again, this time lower down his back, but somehow he was still on his feet. As Floyd turned to see what the hell was going on something hit him across the jaw. Floyd fell backwards into the rubbish at the side of the alley. He didn't feel someone grabbing his feet and he didn't feel his hands being tied behind his back.

Sam walked back home again. He had the laptop under his arm and the unused condom in his pocket. Spencer was going to pay for this. Sam was going to get some payback for having to whore himself out to keep Spencer in drugs. He glanced down the alleyway Floyd had walked down not half an hour earlier. Something glittered… something metallic. Sam stood looking at it for a few minutes, checked that there was no one around and then ran down to where he could see a couple of things laying discarded. An old lighter and a smoke. At least he'd have something other than a sore arse and bite marks on his back to show Spencer. The lighter made his fingers tingle in the same sort of way he got when he thought someone had been following him, or watching him. He shuddered and briefly considered throwing them down again, but a smoke was a smoke. After selling your arse to some fat pervert who gave a shit what you were smoking? He would save it for when he got home though.

o-o-o

Spencer hadn't had the perfect childhood. His mother was ill, his father walked out. The bullies at school kept up a relentless barrage of abuse and pain. They took his lunch most days, which usually only consisted of a bit of fruit or a hastily made cheese sandwich. They took his books, his work. They pushed him, laughed at him… called him and his mother dirty names.

There were times when his mother was hospitalised and he had to spend short and sometimes longer weeks in children's homes. He was a constant bed wetter. He was scared of the dark. He cried himself to sleep most nights, barely left the house during the day. School work fell to the side as he struggled to look after his mother. A kid trying to do the job his father had walked out on.

Spencer's mother finally left the home for the final time when Spencer was eighteen. He'd been working at a local bookstore but lost his job because of the amount of time he had to have off work. His mother had fallen behind in insurance payments. Bennington wasn't the place his mother went to. A state hospital took her in, but it still cost Spencer money he barely had. Job after job… dismissal after dismissal.

And then that day at the library. Spencer had gone there looking for information on demons. He was sure that had something to do with his nightmares, but when he asked, the librarian had given him what seemed to be a knowing look. 'There's someone looking up the same stuff. You should work together.' And that's how he had met Sam. Sam who had looked familiar… so familiar that it made Spencer feel faint… and Sam had slammed the book shut and stared at Spencer.

They saw each other in dreams… in nightmares. They had gone together and had coffee at Starbucks. They discussed their dreams and found a connection. A huge connection. They were the same dreams.

'Fucking hell.' Sam had muttered. 'I thought I was going mad. Maybe I am.'

'Then we both are.' Spencer had said. And for quite a while after that Sam believed that. They were somehow sharing the same dirty – very dirty and intimate dreams… with each other and with an unknown face. But it stayed just a dream for Sam and a nightmare for Spencer. They moved in together… or rather Sam moved in with Spencer who had started to do some very odd things – desperately searching on the internet for answers which seemed to totally take over his life. Lost job after lost job… he didn't seem to be able to hold anything down. Sam was trying to go to college, but in the way that Spencer had been bullied and finally had been his mother's carer, it now seemed that Sam was doing that for Spencer. Spencer who had started to take a little pill every now and then… 'It lets me see the dreams clearer.' He'd explained.

'I can make your dreams a reality.' Sam had offered as he stood there in his jockstrap and boots.

'You're a child.'

'I can be any age you want me to be!' Sam had offered, but the offer was turned down.

'I'm not… I…'

'You don't like boys?' Sam sounded surprised. 'Doesn't look that way in my dreams… _slut_.'

They had come very close to parting ways. They had fights… verbal and occasionally a bit of pushing, but something kept them close. Spencer told people that Sam was his kid brother. Sam told people that Spencer was his junky bro and he needed to keep an eye on him.

In Spencer's view Sam became more and more manipulative. He hid the money, he took Spencer's little green capsules away from him. He kept the phone unplugged. Told Spencer not to open the door to anyone…

'I'm the adult!' Spencer would shout at him. 'I know what I'm doing!'

'Then start showing it!' Sam shouted back as he stood there in a tight pair of red hotpants. 'Stop obsessing about those fucking murders and help me track down this other person.'

Then they'd fall into sulky silence again.

They moved around. Lack of money was a big part of this. Sam picked pockets… took anything he could get his hands on. He pawned cell phones and iPods regularly at different places. He even broke into houses if the chance was there, but that wasn't something he liked to do. Much too risky. And now people were after them for money Spencer owed. It was doing Sam's head in. All of it was.

When he got home Spencer was sitting amongst bits of paper again, scribbling down notes. Sam slapped the laptop onto the coffee table and took in the look Spencer gave him.

'Stop giving our shit away.' Sam snapped at him. 'I don't see why I have to be the one running around getting it back.'

'I never asked you to.' Spencer stood up and gave Sam a funny look. 'I want to try something tonight.'

Sam just snorted a laugh at Spencer. 'I'm going to have another shower. I feel dirty.' He stripped off as he walked and Spencer picked up the things off the floor as he followed him.

'If we dream at the same time – I mean… in the same place, we might see more.' The lighter tumbled out of one of Sam's pockets and Spencer stood staring at it. 'Sam? Where did this come from?' Reid wanted to pick it up and hold it and keep it safe and never let it out of his sight, but he also wanted it no where near him.

'I found it. Can we try to keep it a full day before you pawn it? Someone must have dropped it… there's a smoke in the other pocket, but they're mine Spence. Mine OK? I want to smoke that.'

Spencer let Sam go for now. He prodded the lighter with his toe and then knelt down to get a better look. He knew it. He had seen it before. He could even see the hand which usually held it… a pale hand with dirty fingernails… hard hands. He reached out and gently touched it with one finger.

Sam thought Spencer had had a heart attack, or a stroke. He was just laying there twitching on the hallway floor. Then he thought Spencer had taken an overdose of this damned pills… 'Crap, crap, crap.' Sam ran for the phone and called for assistance and then ran back to Spencer who was bleeding from his ears and foaming pink muck from his mouth. 'What the hell happened?' Sam screamed at him. 'What did you do? What did you take? Spencer!' He could see that Spencer had the lighter clutched in his hand, but when Sam tried to get it away from him Spencer screamed a very unholy howl which had the unexpected effect of making Sam burst into tears. 'Don't you dare die! You've all I've got… I need you. You're a useless fuck but I need you!'

They strapped him down and took him to the hospital. They wanted to know what he'd taken, and Sam didn't know, but he muttered 'meow meow…' and that seemed to mean something to them. They took him away and did a load of tests.

'He's sleeping.' They told Sam.

'Can I see him? Has he still got the lighter?'

'That's the odd thing, he wont release it. Does it mean something to him?'

'Obviously.' Sam moaned back. 'But I can see him? He has nightmares… real bad screamers. Just thought you should know.'

Sam sat at the side of Spencer's bed and watched every twitch. They were going to ask for insurance details soon and he had none to show them. He had nothing. They'd throw them out and Spencer would die and Sam would be alone again… He got up and went to leave the room.

'Sam?' Spencer whispered.

He walked back to the bed and sat down on the green plastic chair. 'You're awake… good. We cant stay here. Cant afford it.'

'Sam… the lighter… I know whose it is… Go and find him. Go and find Floyd.'

It was like something smacked Sam over the back of the head. He lurched forwards where he was sitting in the chair and smacked his head on the metal rim of the bed Spencer was in. 'Oh my fucking god! Oh fuck… oh my fucking fuck… what a pair of cunts we are! All this time! Oh fucking hell Spencer! How could we have forgotten Floyd? How is that even possible?'

'I don't know, but he wouldn't have dropped this… Go report him missing or something. Take all that stuff I collected with you. Find him.' He handed Sam the lighter.

'He's going to fucking kill us! Oh my fuck! What have we done? What happened? What the fuck happened?'

**a/n: I have no idea how this reads back… Let me know if there is any point in carrying on. It's confusing… it's AU and I think you'd have had to have read the stuff before this to understand what's going on. Thanks! PB**


	2. Chapter 2

2

You see them in nearly every city; men, sometimes women, standing with a sign around their necks or waving in their hands, preaching the end of the world. This person seemed no different to many of them. His beard was long and tangled, his white hair was stuck to his head with sweat. He was wearing dark pants and a white shirt and he was telling anyone who would listen that the end was nigh. No one listened though. They walked past him as though he didn't exist. A mad, harmless and probably senile old fellow who smelt odd.

This was just his day job though. Maybe just something to let the people know he was there. He didn't want anyone to say after the event that he'd not warned them. Jacob wasn't senile, but he certainly was mad. At least the people walking down the street got that much right. He was far from harmless though. A very long way from harmless.

When Jacob wasn't warning the people about the end of the world he was camped out in an old abandoned barn out in the middle of nowhere. The house which the barn belonged to had burned to the ground decades ago. No one came here unless invited by Jacob, and he really didn't care if you turned down his invitation. He had a plan and that involved survival and the only way he could see to do that was to be prepared. And that is what Jacob had spent his entire adult life doing… preparing.

He had started out on his journey quite by accident. His younger brother and he had both known that the end was coming and together they trained. They learned how to shoot a gun, a cross bow, throw knives… survive… But then the little brother had been hit by a car. The death wasn't instant… he hung on for a few days, dying slowly and getting his brother to promise that he'd not give up.

'Get an army of followers. People who will listen. Train them. You know you can do it.'

That was more or less the last words of Jacob's younger brother and for his sake and for the sake of humanity he promised to carry on. Children were the easiest to take… train them from an early age… teach them, show them… they'd follow. They always followed. The few who tried to get away or run were destroyed. It was a shame, but the ultimate goal here was to survive the end of the world. A few deaths along the way were necessary. Hadn't his own brother died for the cause?

He took children in five year cycles. He killed the parents as a warning to the cops and he took the kids to train. They fell into step pretty quickly. What kid didn't want to learn how to use a gun! Which kid didn't respond to being treated with respect? Well, probably around half of them did. It was enough… too many at one time and the training process slowed down horribly. He'd made the mistake in the past of snatching too many at one time and ended up losing most of them to treachery and deceit.

Today though he had a few new ones. They cried a lot, but the older kids always comforted them. They had everything a kid could want apart from parents. At least that's how Jacob saw it… and the love of a parent could so easily get in the way of everything else. He didn't only snatch kids though; he would send out the older ones, some of them in their middle age themselves, and they'd make a collection. The idea was not only to keep them capable of killing and surviving anything thrown at them, but to bring subjects back for target practice for the kids. It occasionally got very messy, but that's what you had to do to survive, wasn't it?

He had orders though… he insisted that the only people brought back, apart from the kids, were homeless, adult males. They lived longer. They could take a hell of a lot of damage and no one reported them missing. They'd made a few mistakes in the past and on a few occasions it had meant that they had to change location, but it was rare. His boys and girls were good at what they did. He could trust them completely. He never saw them as brainwashed, murdering thugs. He saw them as guys and girls who saw the truth, and the truth was that if you weren't ready you were going to die.

Today was target practice and they had a very loud and foul mouthed subject to start with. He'd been tied up and caged for a few days, hoping that he'd fall asleep at some point, but this thing just kept on going and going… like his was constantly being recharged by something. It bothered Jacob. This sort were the type to try to get away. They had to keep a very close eye on this one. Never happy… feed them, water them, keep them warm and safe and the poor creatures still complained. This one though… well he was going to have to get rid of the thing. He was too much of a problem.

Floyd had howled abuse at the people who took him for days. It had even reached the point that the people in the cages around him had told him to shut up. That though had just increased his anger. Did they have no idea what he was going to do to them as soon as they let him out? Surely they knew that they'd made the biggest fucking mistake in their lives by dragging him here and putting him in a Fucking Cage! A CAGE! He howled this word a few times… usually with the addition of… 'I'm not a fucking dog!' added to the end.

So today he was dragged out of his cage and tied to a ring in the ceiling, his hands above his head and his feet firmly on the floor. They'd used manacles on his wrists and as six children aged between ten and fifteen walked in circles around him, he turned with them and asked what they wanted.

'What you going to do?' He asked a cure blond haired girl of around thirteen. She was wearing a pink sundress with red roses printed on it.

'I'm going to shoot you.' Came her sweet innocent reply.

'Not before I've smacked you in the balls with this though.' A lad of around twelve had a metal baseball bat in his hand and resting on his shoulder.

'I see it's going to be a fun day… but why?'

'So that we are prepared.' Another voice. '

Adults stood behind the kids giving careful instruction. When the smack to Floyd's stomach didn't make him howl and scream the lad was told to do it harder. Floyd still didn't howl and scream.

'You will die for that.' Is what Floyd told the kid.

The crunching pain between his legs was swallowed back and spat back out at them. 'You'll have to do better than that kiddo.' And they tried… they tried really hard. The man they were clubbing should have been a screaming mess. The shirt was splattered with blood from where he was spitting blood and from where they'd torn through the shirt and into his flesh. 'Nope… still don't hurt… harder… harder…' He licked his lips and glanced at one of the lads… 'Come on… do it so I can feel it. I want to inspect my bruises tomorrow and remember every hit.'

A voice snarled from behind him, and Floyd turned to look at an aging grey haired man with a long beard… Jacob. 'You'll not be alive tomorrow, so please don't spend your energy keeping up this bravado.'

Floyd smiled. His teeth were blood smeared and his lip was split but he still smiled. 'You're just a man.' He said to the elderly madman. 'The day you picked a fight with me was the day you made your biggest error. You gonna hit me too? Going to get that close? I dare you… Come on you motherfucker, don't get the kids to do all the hard work. I want to feel it… hard… hot… blood pumping… hit me, you dried up old cunt!'

The girl with the gun jumped in front of the old man. She waggled the gun somewhat dangerously in Floyd's direction. 'I'll shoot ya ma self if you don't show respect.'

'Now, now children. Don't have discussions with the enemy. Kill it. Slowly.' The old man rested a gnarled hand on the child's shoulder. 'Smash his skull in and take his eyes. Show me all those little tricks we've practiced for so long.'

Floyd smirked and turned his back on the old man. He kept talking though… his mouth a non-stop blast of curses and abusive words. He told the girls what he'd not want to do with them, and told the boys in graphic detail exactly what he _would_ do to them and as he spoke and drew their attention to his bloody mouth, his bleeding nose and those dark eyes which seemed to be able to see right into your soul… he moved his hands and ran a quick thumb over the locks on the manacles. When Floyd suddenly went down into a crouch they didn't at first realise exactly what had happened. The target had slipped his bonds.

'No one, and I really do mean that… no one ties me up and beats me and lives.' He strode towards the girl and pulled the gun out of her hand, swung and shot the old man between the eyes. That was his first. There were a lot of rounds in that gun. Floyd was counting on at least fifteen. This was a whole new world… no promises had been made not to use guns… oh no… and he used it with deadly accuracy. The boy with a nest of black curly hair was the next to go down, then after rolling out of the way, kids who had hit him with the bats took rounds in the chest. They fell around him so fast that it almost seemed like more people than Floyd were firing… And of course they were… Floyd took a round in the shoulder but just grunted as it ripped through him, another in the arm made him swap hands for shooting with, not that it made much difference. Another in the leg and Floyd felt it impact with the bone in his thigh.

'Fuckers!' Was Floyd's battle cry…

The shouts of… 'Kill him!' had changed to… 'Please mister… don't kill me!' it was pathetic in the extreme and ignored totally. Floyd was in battle lust. He'd not stop killing now until he was the only person left standing and maybe he was a bit sad when the spun on one knee and looked into the eyes of the girl in the pink dress. He didn't shoot her… he held the weapon to her face and looked at here eyes first go wide with surprise and then narrow into calculating slits…

'I'm sorry… I wouldn't have shot you… please don't shoot me.'

The gun was empty and he dropped it onto the ground at her feet. 'I'd not shoot you.' He said and watched with disgust as she squeezed tears out of her eyes. Floyd used the thumb nail on his left hand to slice into her throat. The blood sprayed over the side of Floyd's face and she seemed to fold in half and drop to the floor. He then walked around the old barn, pulling cowering people from out of behind old rusty machinery. Some got broken necks, some had their blood drained… some Floyd stamped down on faces or necks until they stopped wriggling. Floyd was blood soaked and hurt… he could feel the bullet in his leg grinding against the bone. He moved quickly, with a slight limp and finished off anyone who was still making a noise. He then picked up a gun walked to the cages with the other captives and shot them too. No survivors. It just wasn't going to happen today. Today Floyd's anger was so great that he could have ripped his own skin off and not noticed.

Outside in the blazing heat was a row of vans and cars. They were all battered and rusty, but a couple of them had keys still in the ignition. The one he chose was an open back truck thing with a stick shift. Floyd liked to feel the gears grinding under his administrations… automatics were for pussies and people who didn't know how to drive.

Floyd drove like a demon… He took corners on two wheels, as he shot down the narrow lanes… the woodlands here were dry and airless. The humidity was the killer… that and the bullets he had stuck in him of course. His original plan had been to just drive until he found someone to tell him where the hospital was… but he didn't find anyone. They found him, with flashing lights and a whoop of a siren. Floyd was more than happy to pull over and speak to the officers, and if they made things difficult he'd just have to kill them too. What he actually did though, was to pull over sharply and lean on the door and ignore them. When they finally came to the car and told him to get out he slowly released the door and fell out into the road.

Far more dramatic!

And it seemed to do the job too! They rattled questions off to the blood drenched man who had been driving like a lunatic, but weren't overly shocked not to get an answer… he did manage to mutter out a few words… 'Five miles or so… road going east… five more or so down a dirt track… my god…' Then he closed his eyes and let paramedics touch his tender places.

He grinned on the inside.

Floyd loved playing _victim_ sometimes, and really that's what he was.

o-o-o

Spencer waited patiently. Sam had bolted from the room, skidding as he tried to turn the corner. The fear on his face there for everyone to see. He'd now been gone two whole days and Spencer actually wondered if he was coming back again. The doctor had been to see him and pronounced him fit. 'But there was a high amount of drugs and alcohol in your system, I don't need to tell you that it will eventually kill you.'

A sigh slid out of Spencer's mouth as he sat there with a fuzzy feeling in his head and a pounding heart. 'Everyone dies eventually.' He muttered. 'It should be up to the individual how that comes about.'

The doctor hadn't replied to this, but had told Spencer that he needed to check out and go home. He had asked if there was anyone who could come and pick him up and Spencer had shaken his head slowly. 'No one.' He had told the doctor.

Spencer was now sitting outside the hospital on a small red brick wall. He had found a few dollars in his pocket and managed to get a pack of cigarettes and a disposable lighter. It was the last of the money as far as he knew. That was if Sam had been honest with him in saying that he'd had his wallet emptied. He still had Floyd's lighter, but that was deep down in his pocket and he didn't really want to use it. Sam had refused to take it, which Spencer had at first been annoyed about but if the boy wasn't coming back, then Spencer was glad it was he who had the lighter and not Sam.

Eventually Spencer got up and walked back towards home. If Sam was anywhere that's where he'd find him.

It was late afternoon and the air was thick almost like liquid. Condensation from the high rise dark brick buildings dripped down almost like rain and as it hit the sidewalk it was sucked up into the grey surface almost instantly. He could hear the chatter of people standing in doorways and as he got closer to home he could hear the occasional dog barking or a child crying. A police car raced past at one point… an ambulance at another. Three young chaps with sun burnt faces and grazed knees ran out of a side street knocking into Spencer and then racing past, shouting out abuse as they went. Another police car whoop whooping… followed by a couple of SUV's pushing through the traffic, twisting into one lane and then into another a hand pumping the horn, telling people to get out of the way and for the most part they did. Only the very stupid stepped out and banged a hand on the hood of one of these dark mysterious vehicles.

Spencer reached the steps at the foot of the building he lived in and sat for a while there in the shade next to a withered plant in a huge terracotta planter. He had another smoke and wished he had something else. Any pills he had left were in the apartment and he was sure that Sam would have gone through his stuff and tossed them away. He would blame the drugs for what happened and Spencer would maybe agree if he didn't know so clearly that there was someone out there called Floyd and that Floyd was going to come and kill him and Sam. He'd forgotten him, he knew that much, what he was unsure of still, was what exactly it was he'd forgotten. Who was Floyd and why would Floyd kill them? Spencer stubbed the end of the smoke out into the planter and noted the small circle of dark brown cheroot butts. It made Spencer's stomach hitch and his skin break out into a greater sweat than it was already in.

The apartment door was slightly open. They never left it open… Spencer put a hand on the door and pushed it. 'Hello? Sam?' He called out and got no reply. There was something wrong. Something very wrong. 'Sam?' He called again as he walked down the dingy hallway towards the lounge. Maybe if they'd had a lot of possessions he would have noticed that something was wrong earlier, but if you don't own anything then there's nothing to hurl to the floor and break. In the dim light he didn't see the blood smeared along the wall, he could see though that some of the news paper clippings were not where he'd left them, and not in the condition he'd left them. There was no door into the small lounge – it was just a large area at the end of the passage. Spencer stood in that opening with his mouth slightly open looking at Sam who was facing him… looking at Sam who had a big man standing behind him with a long shiny knife at his throat. The other people in the room were taking no notice of what was going on with Sam… they had all turned and were looking with amused eyes at Spencer.

'So the big brother returns. I hope he's got some money on him.'

Spencer looked again at Sam and then he took in the trashed room. 'Hurting Sam wont get you your money any quicker. This pressure is making us both too ill to work. If you could just ease off a bit…'

'And give you time to run away again? Ah Spencer, you should know better.'

'There's no point in hurting Sam. If you want to hurt someone, hurt me.' They were brave words and ones which he hoped secretly that they'd take no notice of… not that he wanted them to knock Sam around, no – he wanted them to just leave!

'You're right. It's you who's the junky. You who sends the kid out to do your dirty work.'

There were six of them. One of the six kept hold of Sam who wasn't going to move or do anything which might risk him being hurt. He watched as Spencer was shown by the gang, who Sam had called 'The Spear Chucker Brothers.' (and got his nose bloodied for it.) – knock Spencer across the small room. One of them held him around the neck and Sam could see with a strange mix of delight and horror that Spencer's feet had been lifted off the floor. He watched a fist contact with the side of Spencer's face, a backhand to the other side a punch to his stomach and all the while Spencer's eyes had taken on that 'I am going to die…' look. His face slowly turning a mix of red from the blood now dripping down his face and the odd colour someone goes when being strangled. Spencer's hands were trying to rip the dark fingers with heavy golden rings from around his neck and the noises he was making… a deep throaty _gak, huk, gah_ sort of sound (had you asked Sam to re-enact that sound he could have done a good job of it as it had been happening to him not long before Spencer had arrived.)

They didn't kill Spencer. They were at least intelligent enough to realise that if they killed their clients they'd not get their money back. They threw him from where he'd been choking against the wall, over the back of the couch and onto the coffee table which gave way under the sudden impact and fell to pieces. Spencer let out a loud cry of pain and then fell silent. There was a crackling of paper and a shattering of glass from somewhere, but Sam was looking at Spencer's face which still seemed to be a very odd colour.

'What you have to kill him for?' Sam cried out. 'Help him! You'll get nothing if we're both dead!'

'If he dies then we come after you… properly.' The knife slid away from Sam's neck. 'And this…' The one with most of the gold chains picked the laptop up off the floor… '… is now ours. Tomorrow boys. Tomorrow or you're going to be very sorry little white boys.'

Sam was going to whine about them taking the thing he'd gone to so much trouble to get back, but he decided that he'd keep his mouth shut for once and crawled to Spencer whose lips seemed to be turning purple. He let out a long wailing sob and a cry of… 'Oh my fucking god! He's dead.' And then sat in silence until the footsteps disappeared outside and the door was slammed shut behind them. 'Spencer! Wake the fuck up. Wake up… Fuck…' He moved around and sat across Spencer's middle and slapped him a couple of times around the face – partly out of deep anger and partly because he wanted to slap Spencer too.

Spencer did nothing but lay there with blood coming out of his nose and slipping out of the corner of his mouth. Sam leapt up again, ran to the kitchen and got a cup of water and poured that over Spencer's face.

Reid moaned and wiped at his face. He opened his eyes and looked up at Sam's worried face. 'Erg.' He managed to say before rolling onto his side amongst the shattered remains of the coffee table and coughing and breathing in long shuddering breaths.

'They took the fucking laptop!' Sam snivelled. 'The fuck? That's the only thing we had left and not only are they going to be back for more blood and mayhem, but that motherfucking Floyd is out there somewhere and he's going to want in on the action too. We are so dead Spencer. We don't even have enough money to get a fucking bus out of this shit of a place. What the hell are we going to do? Where can we go?'

Spencer wiped tears off his face and then pushed himself up to sit. 'We still have options.'

'That's it? We have options? What fucking options? I don't see any! They were going to slice my neck open if you'd not walked in when you did. Fucking hell of a rope Spencer we are dead. We are so fucking dead that I can smell myself rotting already! What we gonna do!'

'Hitch-hike… get a car somehow. We'll manage something. Help me…'

'Help your fucking self you stupid arse prick motherfucking toss bag! This is all your fault!'

Spencer had had enough. He was tired, hot, battered, hurting physically and emotionally and honestly he was scared out of his mind. 'Well go then. Go. I never asked you to hang around.'

'You did.'

'Maybe.' Spencer shook his head. 'We'll get a car… go as far as we can and hitch from there. Help me up and I'll get what's left of our things.'

Sam sat down on the floor next to Spencer and put an arm over his shoulder. 'I thought they'd killed you. Fuck it Spencer. I thought you were dead and this shit is so fucking scary. I don't want some mad man after my balls.'

'Well no, nor do I. So we will leave as soon as we have our things ready.'

'I'll make coffee first. I need coffee and a smoke…' Sam gave Spencer a hard look. 'I have some of your shit but you're not having it till we're away from here. OK?' Carrot on a stick. It worked. Spencer got up off the floor and began collecting up his damned bits of paper which had been so badly scattered.


	3. Chapter 3

3

They managed, by swapping cars occasionally and with Sam trawling the night time streets in various small towns… to get enough money together, so by the fifth night they could book into a cheap motel. The last car they'd taken was abandoned in a backwoods lane and they'd walked the last hour with their bags shrugged over their shoulders. Both Spencer and Sam were exhausted and feeling a false sense of relief when they paid over the cash at the motel reception.

A bed to sleep in was a wonderful feeling, but they still couldn't relax. At some point Spencer had placed the lighter into a small paper bag and had stuffed it into the bottom of his bag. He didn't want to touch it by accident.

Pine Trees Motel had a small table at the window which Spencer sat at with his note book out and a pen held between his fingers which he was tapping constantly on the tabletop. Sam wanted to snatch it out of his hands and stick it where the sun didn't shine, but took a shower instead. This really wasn't the life he'd expected when he'd started to hang around with Spencer. Spencer had seemed intelligent and with it… Spencer hadn't seemed like the worthless druggy he really was, and though Sam would happily admit, at the tender age of around sixteen, that as a kid he'd done drugs… he hadn't done much for a while. Lack of funds mostly prevented it, but he didn't have to tell Spencer that and it was one of the major reasons he got so annoyed with Spencer over it. Sam couldn't remember the last time he'd used his crack pipe, but whereas Spencer seemed to like to get as high as a kite and feel those wonderful enhanced senses and hear the beauty of the music, and smell the smells and think… at least Spencer thought he was more able to think when he was high – Sam liked to mellow out almost to the point of unconsciousness. Sam like to block everything out… Spencer liked to feel everything in sharp primary colours.

Spencer closed his note pad with a sigh, sat on the bed and turned on the television. He flicked through the channels for a while and then sat staring at the news report of a mass murder scene not far away from where they'd just come from… 'Sam?' He called out. 'Quickly… see this.'

It was like an offer Sam couldn't refuse. He was out of the shower and wondering if it was going to be his lucky night – wrapping a towel around his middle… but Spencer was just sitting on the edge of the bed looking at the news report.

'What? What was so fucking important that you had to interrupt my long peaceful wanking session?' He flopped onto the bed next to Spencer ad looked at the TV. 'The news? Something good? Some porn star found dead… choked on a bucket of…'

'Hush… look.'

They watched the rest of the news report which was claiming that up to fifty people had been massacred in an old abandoned barn. They said that they were questioning someone about it, but were still unsure what had happened. They could report though that the victims were men, women, and children… and there were even reports that some of the dead had been found in cages.

'Wowzers.' Sam muttered. 'But you could have let me have my fun first huh? The shower's still running. Give me half hour.'

Spencer was shaking his head though… 'Don't you see?'

Sam certainly didn't see and shook his head to indicate this. 'Are you high?' Sam glanced at his bag, but it didn't look as though Spencer had been rummaging madly through it.

Spencer grasped Sam's hand and pulled him back down to sit. 'This is it. This is the thing I've been tracking. The children, the…'

Sam ripped his hand away. 'Ah no… not that fucking shit again. No fucking way!'

'This is big stuff Sam and I have evidence of where this started… or at least as far back as I can go. It's important.'

'It's all in your soft brain, Spencer. You know fucking full well that we cant go back there. Those arseholes will kill us on sight for running and there's that Floyd person too. We've still not figured out exactly what's going on there, except that he wants us dead. So no, sorry Spencer, I'm not going back there to talk to them about some fucking shit you think you found out. OK? Give them a ring if you have to, tell them over the fucking phone, but I'm in no damned way going back into the lions' den. Got it?'

o-o-o

Floyd was pleased with his speedy recovery. He'd be able to leave and get back on the trail of his boys. They were asking for insurance details, which though he could have given, decided to act like he had none. At least in his lengthy and somewhat bloody experience they let you out quicker and asked less questions, so there he was pulling on his jeans and buttoning up his shirt at the same time… (a master of dressing and undressing… usually people other than himself had instilled in him some curious but very useful skills.)… 'Excuse me.' A voice spoke from the doorway. 'Mr Flanders?'

Floyd looked up as he tucked his shirt in. 'Can I help?'

'You look remarkably well considering.' The man spoke again. 'I'm Agent Hotchner, this is Agent Morgan. We would like to ask you some questions about the incident.' Floyd walked over to the small closet in the hospital room he'd been in and looked for his boots. They seemed to be missing. He wiggled his toes and then turned to look at Hotchner and Morgan.

'What do you want to know? Have you any idea where my boots are?' He fiddled with his belt as he spoke without looking at the two men standing in his doorway.

'If you come with us maybe that's something we can talk about.' The stoic dark haired Agent said.

'So I'm under arrest for owning a very old pair of boots? Your laws suck the big one. Did you know that? Sure, I'll answer anything you have to ask me, but I'll need something to put on my feet…'

Which was why Floyd was sitting in an interview room with his feet in a pair of white plastic clogs and his shirt replaced by a white Tshirt. Flanders wasn't happy about this situation one tiny bit. He no longer felt very much like a victim. And he'd so enjoyed that feeling.

'How did you come to be at the barn?' Hotchner asked Floyd.

Floyd shook his head. 'Cant really get a good picture of that in my head, but I think I was accosted, hit over the head you know? I don't have a memory of it happening but I've a lump on the back of my head and this…' Floyd lifted his chin to show the very faded remains of a bruise. '… I heal very quickly. Bruises don't last.' Floyd sighed.

'Can you tell us exactly what happened on the day you _escaped_?' And that last word was said almost as though the man in the suit didn't believe him.

'Not really, but I tell you what, since I've escaped them, my boots and then my shirt have been removed from my possession and I'd like them back. Expensive shit, you know? Not the sort of thing you'd ever be able to afford, but they're my shit… and I like my shit… and I want my shit back again. What exactly was it about what I've already reported did you need me to go over again? I said that they dragged me from the cage and some sort of argument started then some fighting broke out and gun shots went off. They let go of me and started scarpering so I legged it. I got shot a few times and bashed around a fair bit, but somehow I was finally in the open air, I ran for the vehicles and took the first one I came to. Lucky for lucky old me it had keys in the ignition.'

'Did you personally attack anyone?' This Hotchner said.

'Personally? You mean rather then using the power of my mind? No… I was beaten I guess and I defended myself.'

'And how far would you go to defend yourself?'

Floyd stood up and snatched the cigarette packet up off the table. He'd insisted on being allowed to smoke or he'd not have talked to them at all. He lit up and threw the dead match into the ashtray. 'I don't know what you're implying, but I don't like the sound of it. How far would I go? I have no idea… that's a ridiculous question… it would depend on the situation and the risk, surely.'

Hotch nodded and indicated for Floyd to sit down. 'Please sit. It's just that there seem to be no other witnesses. We need to get as much information from you as we can.'

Floyd sat back down again. 'I clouted a few people. I didn't see if they were kids or adults. I wasn't looking and the light wasn't too good. I lashed out as I ran.'

'Did anyone actually try to stop you? Follow you? Did anyone else escape?'

He sucked deeply on the cigarette and slowly shook his head. 'I was thinking of myself not that lot of animals. I escaped. I was shot but I escaped. That's all that matters to me. I'm going to be fine.'

Hotchner nodded. 'Did you at any time pick up a gun – use a gun – fire one?'

Floyd's eyes narrowed. 'I want a coffee closely followed by a sticky bun. I might have picked one up and used it as a club. I cant remember.'

Nods from both men. 'I'll get you that coffee.' They left the room and left Floyd sitting there. He heard the door click locked behind them. He'd said something wrong… but could figure out yet what it was. Though he soon would.

The coffee was placed on the table without a coaster which instantly niggled Floyd who snatched up the drink and held it warm and comforting in both hands.

'Do you own a gun, Mr Flanders?'

Oh that's a fucking good question! And one he was wholly prepared to lie about. 'No, sir. I've no gun permit or such.'

'Have you ever fired a gun?' This was still that tall dark haired Hotchner talking to him.

Floyd sipped on the coffee and did a small half smile. 'Yeah. My pa he was my hero, as I'm sure you understand. Kids idolise parents. It's not uncommon. He had a whole fuck load of guns. Hand guns, rifles, shotguns… the whole lot. He could have owned a gun store, so yeah, he took me out and let me shoot things.'

'What did you shoot?'

'You know… the usual shit… birds, cattle, cats, dogs, passing cars… the occasional person.' Floyd smirked and drank some more of the coffee.

Morgan slammed his fist down on the desk hoping to make Floyd jump and maybe spill some of the coffee, but Floyd didn't even blink. 'Cut the crap will you? Have you ever handled a gun?'

'I just said didn't I? Would I lie to you Agent Derek Morgan?' The words out of his mouth before he could bite them back again. 'Maybe we didn't shoot people… maybe I got a bit carried away there.'

'When at the barn did you fire a weapon?' Morgan again, but there were deep frown lines between his eyes now. He'd picked up on that error… fucking errors… Floyd hated that sort of shit.

'No, sir… I thought I'd said that. I didn't fire a weapon. I maybe used one as a club, but I didn't fire one.'

Hotchner gestured to the door and a tall dark haired woman who Floyd tried not to look at walked in with a large brown cardboard box in her hands. She placed it on the table where the coffee had been placed not too long before and she turned and walked out. Floyd had the horrible urge to leap to his feet and enfold Emily in his arms. She was the only woman ever that he even got close to wanting to be near to… He could imagine himself being married to that damned woman… if she had a breast reduction and would use a strap on… but first things first. He could feel his eyes boring into the back of her head… Fuck… he'd maybe even one day do that with Emily… dear sweet Emily.

'Flanders?' A voice was talking to him… it wasn't the woman of his dreams though, it was that damned Derek Morgan.

'Derek?' He responded.

'Agent Morgan if you don't mind.' An object in a sealed bag was put in front of Floyd. 'Do you recognise that?'

Floyd looked at the automatic pistol and shrugged. 'It's a gun… bang, bang, you're dead… you know? The same type that plugged holes in me. I don't know it personally.'

Morgan slid it closer. 'Have a better look. Pick it and look real close.'

Floyd placed his coffee down and snatched up the weapon. 'Well I don't know. It's just a cheap automatic hand gun.' He turned it over in his hands and looked at it closer… 'Made in china probably… or some fucking slant eyed country. It's nothing special. The sort of thing you'd give someone as a gift when you're meaning to insult them.' He placed it back down again. 'I've not personally seen it before.' So why that sick twisting knot in his stomach?

'When did you last fire a gun?' Hotchner now enquired.

Floyd picked up the coffee once again. 'I don't know. Years.'

'Then can you explain the presence of gun shot residue on your hands, your face and your shirt.'

Well this was a fucking mess. Floyd said nothing.

'Can you explain why your finger prints are on the gun?'

Floyd drank more of the coffee and then sighed. 'Look – I was in a pretty frightening situation. Maybe I picked it up and maybe I fired it a few times, I don't know. I was in pain and shitting myself with fear… Like any normal man would be. I cant fucking remember shooting a gun but if you insist that I did then I guess I must have done.'

The next thing out of the box was Floyd's long lost boots. They were also wrapped in a plastic bag. 'Do you recognise these?'

'No.' Floyd snapped. 'Never fucking seen them before.'

'They were taken off your feet when you were in the ambulance.'

'Then you know I've seen them before so why ask? You going to tell me that they have gunshot residue on them too?'

'I'm going to tell you that there was human matter found on them.'

Floyd finished the coffee and dropped the waxed paper mug onto the floor. 'Where the fuck is my sticky bun… and I'm wondering if I need to call for a lawyer… you seem to be accusing me of something.'

'We want to know what happened in the barn. We want to know how only one person managed to get out alive. We want to know, if no one else lived…'

Floyd stopped them with a cutting gesture with his hand. 'You think I killed them because no one else lived? That's it isn't it? There were about fifty or so people crammed into that barn… I was slipping and sliding over muck on the floor, honestly I wasn't looking where I was walking. Maybe I stood in something. I didn't see what happened after I left. Perhaps other people got out. Perhaps they're hiding out there in the woods. I really don't know and I don't give a shit as long as I'm no longer in danger. I was the fucking victim, not the criminal here. You're looking at the wrong person if you think I could have killed all those people.'

'Does it not strike you as even slightly odd that most of the blood on your shirt wasn't yours?'

Floyd lit up another smoke. 'When I was shot at some stage, my leg gave way. I was rolling around on the floor.' That much had been true.

'In light of the situation and the evidence so far gathered I think it would be good if you spent the night in the cells. Tomorrow more test results will be back.'

'I just escaped for being locked in a cage. I'm not too happy about being locked in another. You have no proof that I did anything wrong apart from defend myself and get away from a deadly situation. You may, by all means put me in a cell for the night if you think that will make you feel happier, but I'm telling you now Agent Aaron Hotchner that I didn't do anything wrong. You understand me?'

Hotch twitched slightly hearing his name spoken like that. It was like a bolt of déjà vu. He shuddered and stood. 'There could be people out there looking for revenge.'

'There could well be.'

'So you'll be safe here.'

'Sure… sure I will. Thank you for your concern. When you've time, get my fucking boots cleaned will you? Thank you gents. I'm tired and I'm going to take you up on your offer of a bed for the night.' He paused and looked at Hotchner with a hard dark stare. 'Sweet dreams. Keep your loved ones close… you never know what's waiting for them in the shadows.'

o-o-o

Spencer stood in the reception of the small motel with the telephone in his hands. He had wanted to talk to the police in charge of the investigation concerning the slaughter in the barn… 'I have information.' He told them.

'Please hold the line, Sir.' He was told and he did… five minutes, eight… nearly ten? 'Sir are you still there?'

He was. 'Hello… hello! Yes I have inform…'

'I'm sorry sir but the person you need to talk to is not available. Please try again later.' The phone then went dead in Spencer's hand. He placed it back on the cradle and sighed. They were going to have to go back. He had to tell them what he knew. He couldn't leave this. It was as though something inside of him was screaming that he had to return… and he had to hand over the clues. He rubbed at his temples and walked slowly back to the motel, where Sam had discovered that his bed vibrated and that they had porn channels on the television. He was making the most of both luxuries, knowing that Spencer would want silence when he got back. Spencer was turning into being the worst possible person you could go on a road trip with.

'The way I see it…' Sam started on at Spencer as soon as the bed came to the end of the five minute cycle. '… There is something or someone following us and you want to go back to the city we just ran from. If we go in a round about way, maybe we can avoid him? What did they say on the phone? Anything?'

'They didn't want to know. It's always the same, Sam.'

'Then maybe you're wrong and the cops are right? They're trained in this stuff Spencer and you're not. You really don't know your arse from your elbow most of the time. So leave it. Chuck the stuff away… find something else to focus on, like finding the funding for my next year at school, cos I really would like to get my diploma… who the fuck am I kidding, I want my fucking Phd… and you're going to stop me getting it cos you're freaking out over news paper cuttings. I know for some reason that we should be together but you're making life really fucking difficult.'

Spencer was back at the table fiddling around with his news paper cuttings and writing down more notes. He was so tired. Tired of the situation. Tired of Sam. Tired of his life… and now this Floyd thing had cropped up and this slaughter which he was now thinking he could have prevented if someone had just listened to him.

The knock on the door came about half an hour later. Sam was using _Vibro-Bed_ again and watching an old black and white movie. Spencer was still sitting at the table, but he stopped writing mid sentence and his head snapped up and he looked at the door. The knocking came again. Spencer closed the note book and put his pen down. Sam pressed the red _off_ button next to the bed and slid off so that he was kneeling on the floor between the beds. He had a quick check. There was room to slide under there if trouble started. Again the knocking. More insistent this time.

'One second!' Spencer called out and gave Sam a quick _be ready_ look. Ready for what, he had no idea. He put the safety chain on the door, unlocked it and slowly opened it. The cops. Spencer's heart thudded with alarm. 'Can I help you?'

'Just open the door will you? You made a phone call from the reception earlier.'

Spencer nodded. 'But no one was interested in listening.'

'Well we're interested now, so open the door and let us in.'

Spencer was more than happy to do so. It was a big relief to finally have someone listen to what he had to say. He happily handed over his notes and cuttings. 'I've been saying for a long time that something was going on. No one would take notice.'

'Oh we're taking notice now. Don't you worry about that.'

Spencer had his hands cuffed in front of him. He was more than happy to go with them. It seemed right. It felt as though this was what should have happened so long ago.

Sam resisted violently. He screamed and kicked and punched and tried to get under the bed out of reach but he too was eventually dragged out to the police car… his hands were behind his back. He screamed at Spencer that he was an arsehole. He howled that he was innocent. He cried and begged them to let him go… and then asked where they were taking them.

It was no great surprise that they were going right back to where they'd run from.

And though Spencer said nothing, the colour drained from his face. Sam had plenty to say on the subject though.


	4. Chapter 4

4

Morning arrived for Floyd with a bowl of fruit and a cup of coffee. He was also asked if he'd slept well and if there was anything else he needed. They would be talking to him again soon. Floyd drank the coffee and threw the bowl of fruit at the wall. No he hadn't slept well. He'd not slept at all. He'd spent the night pacing the small room he'd been locked in and that blinking red light over the door let him know that they knew he'd done that. Floyd had been tempted to muck up the system and turn the damned camera off, unlock the doors and walk away, but he would have liked his boots back… there was also the matter of other things… things he needed to find. He didn't have to wait long. They came back and asked if he needed medical attention. Did he need his wounds dressing. Would he like a shower. They got 'No.' as an answer to all. He was then escorted back down to the interview room.

'You know we're not accusing you of anything yet.' Hotchner said. He'd changed from a white shirt to a pale blue one with a dark blue tie.

Floyd sat down… the cigarettes were back and a coffee sat there waiting. They'd noted that his man talking a lot more when he had what he thought he needed. Let him have his luxuries – for now. 'I was locked in a cell all night. Sure doesn't feel like I'm not being accused of anything.'

A new package was placed on the table. 'I think we need to start again.' Hotchner sighed.

Floyd looked at the clear plastic bag with his wallet sitting in it. 'Well, that's mine.' Floyd reached out for it. They didn't stop him, but if anyone with half an ounce of sense had looked closely at this they'd know that wasn't pig skin. 'You've looked inside obviously or you'd not know it was mine.' Hotchner nodded. 'So you now have a whole new list of questions to ask me?'

'You can take it out… please.' Hotchner was giving Floyd that look… a familiar _I know what you are_ sort of look.

Floyd slipped the wallet out and opened it, checking that everything was still there. He carefully counted the money and then placed the wallet back on the table. 'Thank you.'

'You told us you have no gun permit.'

'Well I lied. I thought you'd have me smacked up in the slammer faster than I could blink if I admitted to something like that. Yes I have a permit to carry a gun. That, sir, doesn't make me a bad person. You yourself carry a weapon.'

'Were you carrying a weapon when you were abducted?'

Floyd shook his head. 'No… I don't just wander around the city with a gun on my hip. I'm not some sort of fucking cowboy.'

'You own a motorcycle?'

'Harley Switchback. It's in storage, but I have a feeling that you know that already. The receipt is in there… for the storage, not for the bike. Is that suddenly illegal? Am allowed to own a bike? Go check it out. I've a license and I'm insured. And though that's likely very disappointing for you, it's not even slightly illegal. I even have a couple of helms for when needed. So go have a nose, you're welcome. You don't need a warrant. I'm giving you my full permission to check, but you scratch or mark that bike and I'll be down on you like a ton of fucking bricks.'

'Expensive bike.' Morgan chimed in.

'That's why it's in storage and not parked in some lot behind a fucking bar. I'm not stupid.'

'I beg to differ.' That was Morgan again. 'You've obviously lied to us about most of what you said, so why don't you take it from the top and start all over again. Where are you from? Your accent isn't local. Where do you call home, Mr Flanders?'

Floyd snatched up the wallet now and put it in his back pocket. 'I'm from a mix of places. The family travelled. I have no base. I still travel which is why I have the bike. It's more suited to my style than the greyhound. What the hell that has to do with anything I don't know. I've not done anything wrong other than be smacked over the head and put in a cage at some lunatics barn. Do you treat all victims like they're the enemy? What's it I've done that's got you so fucking confused. I've told you… they dragged me out of the cage, then arguing started, shouting, fighting… gunshots. I was trying to get away, they seemed more interested in killing each other than watching me but I still got shot and smacked around some. I crawled out, found the nearest vehicle with keys and I got the hell out of there. They were still fighting when I left. I was picked up a while later for driving erratically. I had no alcohol or drugs in my system, as you well know. That's it. That's all I know. Now may I please leave?'

'Where does a traveller get that amount of money from?' Morgan asked. 'Because for someone who claims to be homeless, but drives such an expensive bike, can afford to keep it in storage and wears… well not off the peg clothing… I'm curious.'

Floyd finished the coffee from the cup, stubbed out the cigarette and shook his head. 'Well you just carry on being curious Derek, because if you just opened your mind slightly you'd know. You need to go home, have a nice long soak in the tub and have a good hard think on what you've asked me. You already know the answers. Am I free to leave?'

Hotchner stood and gave a small nod. 'I would like you to book into a local place for now. I need an address. This is an on going case as I'm sure you're aware. We might have more questions. Do you have a cell phone?'

'No he doesn't.' Morgan answered. 'Do you?' He had no idea how he was so sure about that. This Flanders was giving him the creeps.

'Indeed I don't. If you wish, book me in somewhere yourself. I'm happy to pay. I'm not going to ask you to do that but somewhere to relax would be favourable. Agent Hotchner… I am very aware that this is far from over and I'm happy to talk to you. Very happy to talk to you, but I'd be even happier to talk to that tall dark haired chick. She just smells delicious.' Floyd licked his lips and smirked at Hotch.

o-o-o

Spencer and Sam travelled in the back of a large black car. They stayed cuffed and Sam stayed belligerent and awkward. Spencer actually managed to sleep for some of the time. It felt to him that somehow he was finally going home, though it certainly wasn't to Vegas they were going. He was worried about the Floyd business, of course he was, but hopefully whoever Floyd was, was tracking them in the wrong direction now. Not that they had a choice. No amount of Sam's protests were going to get them anywhere but where these people wanted them to be. Accusations of kidnapping and abduction from Sam got no reaction. Spencer trying to explain to the people in the car with them didn't get any results either.

The car pulled over occasionally for the drivers to change places or to fill up on gas, or get refreshments.

'You need to use the restrooms?' They were asked.

Spencer did and so was escorted around the back of one of the gas stations to use a grubby toilet. They didn't uncuff him, which didn't surprise him in the slightest and actually made him feel more comfortable in a very odd way. Sam didn't. Sam let go of his bladder in the back of the car instead and showed no remorse or shame about doing it either.

Sam thought it would have gotten them angry. He thought he'd have got a reaction from them, but they didn't seem to care, or if they did they chose not to give Sam the pleasure of showing it. Spencer had tried to get Sam to eat… though Sam's hands had been kept behind his back, Spencer held up bits of burger or a piece of sandwich for him and Sam shook his head.

'I don't trust them. Why are you acting like this shit is normal, cos it's not. This just isn't normal. They will kill me. They'll poison me. I'd rather die of starvation and dehydration than eat what they offer.' This protest could go on for hours until Sam's throat actually hurt from the constant complaints. Spencer decided to eat and drink what was on offer.

'If they wanted us dead we would be long gone by now.' Spencer reasoned. 'It's about that stuff.'

'Fuck the stuff and fuck you too.' Sam had told him.

If you'd listened to the two of them you'd think that they were squabbling sulking lovers and not friends or brothers… or whatever they had claimed to be. It was a strange friendship they had, if it was a friendship, and the people driving the car and sitting there listening to the sniping coming from the back seat were taking note of every word muttered.

They drove for two solid days until they arrived back in the city. Spencer sighed with relief when he saw the tall buildings looming up in the distance. There was a smoggy yellow blur to the sight. The weather was getting hotter. Not that you'd have noticed sitting in the back of the dark car with the dark windows and the air conditioning blowing constantly. Sam started to scream when they crossed the official city lines. He attempted to kick out the window with his sandaled feet and they let him try. If by some weird fluke he _did_ break the glass he wasn't going anywhere. Oh no… these two were going to be kept secure and have questions fired at them for a long time yet. Sam would have answered anything and been more than happy to stay being questioned for weeks if they wanted, just _not_ in this city. This place made him wish he was able to kill himself. It was going to be better than what he felt was going to happen.

'He's still here.' Sam muttered. 'I can feel it.'

'You're imagining it.' Spencer hissed back. This was not something he wished to discuss with the people they were being taken to.

'You know I'm not. He's still here and he's going to do dreadful things to us both.'

Spencer thought maybe that Sam was right, but now wasn't the time. They were safe all the time the cops wanted to talk to them and as soon as they could go, Spencer was going to leave so fast you'd not be able to see him for the dust… But still… this somehow felt right. So damned right. It was like all his confusion and angst about life and love and everything would be answered in this city.

'Everything will be good. You'll see.' Spencer went to pat Sam on the knee, but Sam slid over the seat and pressed himself against the car door.

Maybe it would open suddenly and he'd fall out amongst the traffic and be crushed. A quick death. He'd not even feel it. 'I really would rather be dead than be here.' His voice wobbled and now the tears started. By the time they arrived Sam had cried his eyes to a dry red puffiness. Spencer thought it looked like Sam had a very bad case of hay fever but maybe that would have distressed him all the more.

They were escorted into a building. The floor was a speckled grey tiles and the walls were white. There was something thrumming in the background which Spencer took to be the air conditioning and there was strip lighting which flickered horribly and made the few shadows bounce and dance. Sam didn't get further than two steps inside the lobby. The smell hit him first, then the oppressive atmosphere and the fear took a hold of him and turned his brain off for a while. His knees unhinged and had it not been for the officers holding his arms just above the elbows he would have fallen on his face and likely killed himself. Spencer heard the noise going on behind him and turned as someone called out for a medic and saw them lower a shaking twitching Sam to the floor.

'Does he have seizures?' Someone was talking to Spencer… maybe from under water, or in another room… It was really hard to tell with the room spinning the way it was. 'Has this happened before?' It was the same voice but still Spencer couldn't answer… that smell… a rich cloying smell of sweat and musk and dirt and Spencer heard himself muttering something…

'Oh my god no…' And his knees also gave way. He felt his face hitting the floor and could feel something hot dripping down his face.

'Someone call for a medic. What the hell is going on?' That was for now all Spencer could hear.

o-o-o

They sat Sam down on a comfortable couch. There was a woman there who said she was a social worker as it seemed that Sam was not legally an adult. He told them to go stuff their opinions up their arses.

'You don't understand. You just don't.' He moaned at them.

A tall dark haired woman entered the room and Sam screamed and curled up and did more of his crying business. He knew her. Oh he knew her and she carried with her a faint scent of musk… not enough for it to mean anything more than she'd been in the same room as Floyd. It was there. Floyd had tagged the bitch.

'We need to hear everything.' She said calmly. 'Would you like a soda?'

'Fuck you.' Sam replied as he wiped his snotty nose on the back of his hand.

'Your name would be a start.' She spoke gently. She was nice. Nice and very familiar. He could happily suckle off that woman… and fuck her given half the chance… but that smell was a bit off putting, at least he thought that was why his stomach was heaving the way it was.

'He'll kill you if you let him get too close.'

She looked surprised and gave a very small nod. 'Spencer?'

'No, no not Spencer. He's as limp as a bit of week old lettuce, but saying that you'd be wise not to underestimate him.'

'So tell me everything, Sam. Are you related to Spencer? How do you know him?'

'I'll have a soda. My throat is helluva dry.'

Sam told Emily Prentiss his little story: 'I was raised all over the place. My family travelled a lot.' He paused when he saw the look on Emily's face. She didn't seem happy about this declaration. 'They sold me to a couple who were desperate for their own kids when I was ten. I went to live with them and hated every moment. Really hated it. I was used to living outside, crapping in the bushes and pissing wherever I wanted. I was used to taking orders and taking them with a slap or a kick. They tried being nice. It didn't really work. I went to school and got shockingly good grades and then… and then they both died. Both of them. They… erm… died… yeah… they both died and I was put into a kids home… I was twelve.'

Emily turned as the door opened and someone walked in with a burger and a can of soda. They were placed on a table next to Sam and then when the person had left Sam carried on.

'I started having weird dreams and nightmares. Then they went from weird to horrific. I'd wake up covered in sweat and piss and sometimes I'd shit myself… that sort of scary you know? You ever have dreams like that? I didn't know what to do… I thought I was going insane… not going – I thought I'd lost my mind. So I was given loads of medications, but it wasn't just the nightmares anymore. I was seeing things… things moving and hearing them whispering in shadows… and this just carried on and good old Sam was getting amazing grades and so it couldn't have been that much of a problem could it?

'So I thought I had some kind of curse on me. Probably from the gypsies or whatever. I figured I had to break it, but when I started to look into it nothing was concrete. It was all just made up shit. Stories… nothing which could explain those glowing red eyes in the shadows or that smell. I could smell it. I looked deeper and decided that I was being watched by a demon so that's what I started to look into. Protections and wards and shit like that, then one day I'm at the library… and I'm fourteen by then and I meet Spencer and his story, though not the same felt familiar, like I should have known it already… and he was having nightmares and seeing things too. It felt so fucking good to talk to someone who didn't laugh at me. Someone who understood what I was thinking and saying and he was researching demons too. So I hooked up with him and we did our research together… the rest is history.'

'Demons.' Emily stated. 'Following you? Why?'

'Because I did something really bad… so fucking bad that you'd scream and fall down dead if I told you. That's why.'

'I've seen a lot of bad things Sam… you can tell me.'

Sam shook his head though. 'No I cant. I really cant do that, because you will assume what other people do and think I'm bonkers and then our friendship will disintegrate and you'll not believe anything else I say… you see? It's really best I don't talk about that.'

Spencer was talking very fast and stumbling over his words as he attempted to pass on the information he'd gathered. The news paper cuttings and note books were all over the table. Rossi stood there with Hotchner looking with great curiosity at the young man who looked like he was going to explode in his efforts to say what he needed to say… 'So you see… I put all of it together, the murders, the abduction of the children, and then of course the missing adults. I've been trying to let the authorities know all of this for so long I cant remember! I've talked to people about this and they all think I'm completely mad and then I saw a news report… it all added up in my head. You can see that cant you? Surely you can see it.' Spencer pulled up some maps and opened them up, placing one on top of the next. 'Look… see I've marked where the children go missing, where the adults were reported missing. And yes, I'm aware that homeless and people who work the streets disappear. I know! But look… it's a pattern and it's the same pattern every time. You have to see that.' He flipped one map off and showed the next. 'Can you see?'

It was Rossi who nodded. This young man was making him feel very uncomfortable. He seemed like he should know him. It wasn't just the way he spoke or looked, but the way he moved his hands, the way he was dressed, even the handwriting seemed like he'd seen it before.

But it was Hotchner that Spencer was looking at… almost pleading with his eyes for him to see what he could see here. 'Sit down and relax. I can see what you're saying and I'm going to take all of this away and have a closer look. Do you by any chance know a man called Preacher Jacob?'

Spencer frowned and shook his head. 'No… I don't think I know that name.'

'In your investigations have you come across the name Floyd Flanders?'

Reid went to stand up and bolt from the room, but his legs wouldn't do what he asked them to do. His brain went into a mad over drive and stopped him from talking… the colour drained from his face and grey blurs snuck in around the edge of his vision which had bright stars dancing over it. 'I'm going to…' He didn't get further… he slumped forwards onto the table with a sigh.

o-o-o

In the meantime Floyd thought it time to pay Spencer and Sam a visit. He felt dirty and angry. He'd done his best and destroyed a gang of really quite nasty people and couldn't even take the thanks he thought he really deserved. Instead they thought of accusing him of all kinds of shit he'd not done… OK… he'd done it, but really it had been self defence. Over kill… but they would have happily have killed him if he'd not killed them first. What's a man meant to do when faced with that situation? Bow down to them and offer your head on a plate? Fuck that.

His anger was spiking through his head and up his leg where he'd been shot as he bounced up the stairs to the apartment he knew the boys were staying in. He'd not been able to keep track of them for a week or maybe more and it irritated him beyond belief that some nutter had got in his way. If he had the chance to do it all over again, he would have dragged Old Jacob out into the backwoods and munched down on him. Now though he was pushing the door open at the top of this flight of stairs and marching down the corridor to the apartment.

Then seeing that the door was slightly open didn't surprise Floyd so much, as make him think that the lads were fools. Real big fools. He stepped in and could smell old fear and a lot of aftershave. Not something either of his boys would wear. This was … well, something which shouldn't be here.

He didn't call out but quietly closed the door and pushed over the bolt on the door and then with his hands in fists at his sides he walked down towards what was a wrecked lounge and was soon to become a slaughter house.

o-o-o

They wanted an address for them. They had to make sure that they had no involvement in anything which had happened. Hotchner didn't like coincidences like this. He disliked them and didn't trust them as far as he could throw them. And now more reports were coming back from the lab.

There had been twenty five victims… Over half had died of gunshot wounds from the same gun. As it happened it was the same gun which had Flanders' fingerprints all over it. Six people had broken necks. Four had crushing injuries to the chest or neck area. Fifteen had died from fairly close range fire. Seven children had taken hits to the heart. The rest were head hits. Whoever had fired that gun was horribly accurate, if what Flanders said was true and they'd been fighting in a melee. The whole thing seemed impossible. The more they looked at it the more confusing it became.

Men were sent to have a look around the apartment. They were looking for guns especially as neither Spencer or Sam had been armed. Spencer hadn't been bothered by this at all. He'd even given them a key so they could get in. He couldn't remember if he'd set the alarm but he gave the disarming code for that just in case. They had left the place a mess. Spencer warned them of that. They'd left in a hurry but the place was still being rented in their names, at least for another six weeks.

The people from the lab went with the cops to see what they could find… the smell was thick in the corridor. The smell of burning food. Someone had left dinner in the oven for too long by the smell of it. The group of six placed hands over noses and pulled faces. How could people live in places like this… the mess in the public areas was disgusting. Under the stench of burnt food was the smell of toilets and dirt, but the nearer they got to the apartment the stronger that smell of food became – except _food_ wasn't exactly the right word for it by now. They unlocked the door and heaved and coughed and stepped back letting out some of the smoke which had gathered around the door of the apartment. One of them stepped forwards with his latex gloved hands and turned off the alarm which was bleeping and flashing a red light at them in the smoke… and maybe steam too… the smell of burnt food was coming from the kitchen.

'I guess they forgot to turn something off before they went away. This is how fires start. Damned idiots.' The man muttered. There was a large pan sitting on the electric hob. He turned it off and moved the pan to the side. Inside were burnt lumps of something… 'Idiots.' He muttered again.

They found four corpses. At least they thought there were four. They could only tell that much because there were four decapitated heads sitting on the couch. The rest of the bodies had been torn apart. Not cut. Not even crushed, but almost like they exploded from the inside. Their rib cages were exposed and some of the ribs pulled back… internal organs were laying on the floor next to them. The odd thing was the neat pile of clothes on the floor by the window and on a small side table was a pile of gold rings and necklaces.

'Oh my dear god.' Someone whispered. 'What the hell?'

They came looking for something out of place and found it. And they really wished that they'd been off duty, ill – maybe with a touch of the plague that day, because for all of them this scene was going to visit them during their sleep until the day they died.

'An animal? It… no one… it's…' The female voice trailed off.

'Go collect whatever the hell it was cooking. I have a very nasty feeling what was in that pan.' A cop spoke quietly… maybe if he whispered then this wouldn't have happened.

'You know, I've seen some sick things in the past… but damn.'

The oddity was the order. The men were pulled apart, ripped and torn open and bits had been removed, but those bits were laying neatly next to the victim. It did look as though there'd been a fight of some kind but the tenants had said that they'd left in a hurry and it was a mess, so it really was hard to tell. Apart from the mess in the lounge… the rest was almost tidy… the bathroom had been scrubbed clean. Bleached… disinfected… if a shower had been taken after the killing then they could still find out. Bleach didn't destroy everything… not by a long chalk.

o-o-o

It had been decided that it was very likely that Sam had something wrong with him. The social worker had gotten hold of paper work going back to when he was first put into care. It turned out that his parents had drowned. They'd been living in Florida and one evening his mother and father had gone out on their boat and never returned. The boat was found the following day… the parents weren't. Sam had been left at home locked in his room with bars on the window. Reports said that Sam was emotionally damaged. He would need years of intensive therapy to recover from what had happened. They suspected that there had been sexual abuse. Child pornography was found in the house in the form or photographs. Quite a few of them were of Sam… though nothing definitely sexual, and who was there to accuse now anyway? Best to forget it. He was doing well at school despite the nightmares (they'd given him sedatives to help him sleep.) and he was a prolific bed wetter right up until he just walked away one day to go to the library and never returned.

They hauled out Spencer's file. He also had a childhood which many suspicions attached to it, but mostly they were mental health issues and abandonment issues. It was noted that Spencer suffered nightmares, was failing at school… and finally dropped out. Yet earlier school reports had shown a very bright little boy. Something had happened to change that… again sexual abuse was thought of, but in Spencer's case discarded as an over reaction.

Now the two of them were together. Two unstable people. One who had been exposed to sexual influences from a very young age and one who seemed to just be delusional and paranoid.

It was the social workers suggestion that Sam be taken and seen by a specialist. She didn't think that it was safe for him to stay in the company of Spencer, not because Spencer was dangerous, but because Spencer seemed to live in a world of his own and seemed completely unaware that a man of his age living with a sexually active boy of sixteen was not the best situation.

They called Spencer back and talked to him. Sam though was sedated with something they put in his soda and they took a compliant young man to the local psych hospital. It was for the best. He needed someone to care for him properly. They also had some photographs of some local _boys_ and wondered if Spencer knew them. The photos were placed on the table in front of Spencer who stared down at them and then up at Rossi and then down at the photographs again. 'Yes I know them. Why?'

'It seems that they went to your apartment, probably yesterday or the day before and found something nasty waiting for them. How and why did you know them? Is there a reason they'd be at your apartment?'

Spencer looked at the photographs again and then up at Hotchner. 'I borrowed money off them. They sold me some recreational drugs. I owed them and was having problems paying them back. They often came to the apartment and made threats.' He paused and pushed the pictures away from him. 'It's why we left. They made some quite serious threats last time. I could have handled it if I was on my own. I could have sorted something out, but they kept jumping Sam and it worried me. Sam's very volatile. He has a temper, and honestly I don't blame him, even if it does annoy the hell out of me most of the time. I do understand that he has issues and I was helping him. He was back in school and looking for a job during the summer break. I needed to get him away from those guys.'

'So you ran.'

'So we ran, yes. I couldn't get the money fast enough. As I said, if it had just been me, then I would have stuck it out and tried to make a deal with them, but I was concerned about Sam.'

'So who would have killed them?'

Spencer shook his head. 'I'm sure they had many enemies. It could have been anyone.' He frowned at Hotchner. 'You don't think it was me do you?'

'No. I know it wasn't you. You were in custody when it happened.'

That at least was a relief. 'Good… well not good that they're dead, you understand, but good that you don't think it was me. I will book Sam and I into a motel room. I'll…'

'No. Sam is going somewhere to be looked at by someone who specialises in the sort of problems Sam has.'

And now Spencer stood. 'Oh, oh no… you cant. You just cant. We need to be together. We have to stay together. I need to keep him safe. You must understand that… he's out there somewhere. He's out there and he knows we are here. I have to stay with Sam.'

'Did you know that Sam is sexually active?'

Spencer sat back down again. 'Sexually active… he… Sam? Yes… I suppose I did. I try not to think about it. He's got his own mind and needs. I try to help him, but you know?'

'Have you ever had sexual contact with Sam?'

Spencer paused. Maybe that pause was a little bit too long. Maybe his voice had taken on an odd tone. What ever it was Hotchner didn't think that Spencer was telling the whole truth. 'No… never… no… no. That's ridiculous. Why would I?' No matter. The specialists would find out. They'd get it out of Sam somehow. 'Agent Hotchner… I have dreams, I told you I have dreams… sometimes Sam is in them. They're horrific… like dreams from somewhere in hell. They're so real that when I wake up I can smell Sam… or I can smell…' He bit down on his bottom lip. '… I think I can smell Floyd… and I think sometimes in my dreams you are there… I know! I know that sounds crazy, but I know you. I've seen you before. I know Agent Morgan. I know Emily Prentiss and JJ… I know Rossi… I know them! How can that be?' Again he paused and just stared at Hotchner. 'There're are other names that come to me in dreams… names and faces and I know them, but yet I don't. It's like I'm dreaming a whole different life. As though I'm two people. One of them is how you see me now and another is very different. And Floyd is there… in the background and with Floyd comes great pain… agonies. Death. And now you think I'm mad, I know you do. But I know things… Tell me, do you know someone called Gideon?' He could see by the look on Hotchner's face that he did. 'I don't understand it. I just don't. When I'm dreaming, just a normal dream it's good. It's very good. But the nightmares encroach and this Floyd is there… Who is he?'

Hotchner stood up. 'I don't know what this game is you're playing, but it's not amusing.'

Spencer stood. 'Please… it's not a game.'

'If this is not a game then what the hell is it?' Hotchner's voice raised in a very uncharacteristic way. 'What else do you know, young man?'

He knew a lot, but admitting that was going to get him locked up as a spy for the rest of his life and that wasn't something he needed right now. 'Nothing… just that Floyd is dangerous and I've done something to annoy him.' Spencer gave a small smile. 'Actually I think that _annoy_ is putting it very mildly. In my backpack is right at the bottom, wrapped in something is a cigarette lighter. It belongs to Floyd. Look at it for me will you? Just do that and see if you know it. See if it jogs your memory.'

'My memory isn't at fault.'

'Maybe not… I don't know, but look at it, hold it and tell me if it makes you think of something.'

Hotchner had had enough. He didn't know how Spencer was connected with everything but he was. He was sure of it. He just wasn't totally sure if Spencer was the one he needed to be talking to. He had a suspicion that it was Floyd Flanders with his clever mouth and strange smell who was the one they needed to keep closer tabs on. As it was, and however gruesome it happened to be, the murder in Spencer's apartment didn't seem to be connected to the massacre at the barn. The idea that maybe Spencer had been molesting Sam seemed more reasonable, but again that wasn't a Federal case. Someone else would look into that. Sam had issued no complaints about that and he'd had ample opportunity to do so. Hotchner couldn't keep Spencer here any longer. He could tell him that he wasn't to go back to his apartment. He could tell him to let them know where he was staying so that they could contact him. And they could keep Sam away from him at least for now, until they had conformation one way or the other that something other than brotherly love had been going on between the pair of them. He had a very good idea that Spencer had a personality disorder of some kind, but he didn't seem to be criminal. He had to let him go for now. It narked him to do so, but he thought that they'd find out more if they had someone follow him and watch him for a few days at least.

Spencer left the building on another bright sunny day. The heat was belting up off the side walk and the usually hurried rush everyone in the city was usually in, had slowed to a crawl. Even the traffic seemed to be slow, as though tyres would melt in the heat if they went too fast. Hotchner had declined the offer of looking at a cigarette lighter and so Spencer still had that stuffed down in the bottom of his bag when he waved a cab to stop. It pulled over and Spencer told the driver where he wanted to go. It was a small motel the cops had told him about. It was fairly close by. He slipped into the back seat and the cab was about to go when the other door opened and someone slid onto the seat next to Spencer. He tapped on the dividing window between the passengers and driver and gave him a wave to tell him to get going.

Floyd then turned and smiled at Spencer.

'Remember me, Babes?' He spoke softly as though talking to an idiot. Floyd thought maybe he was.

'I…'

'Of course you do. I'm just curious as to how much you remember… and that other question I really want to ask you… why did you forget in the first place? Am I really that forgettable?'

'Please… whatever it is you want…'

'Not here… not here Babes. Let's have a nice long chat back at the motel. They're not allowing you home yet? I made such a mess there, but people like that in your apartment? Well… it just blew my carefully controlled temper out of window. Why are you shaking? Have I threatened you – yet?'

'I have your lighter.' Spencer really didn't know what else to say. 'It's in my bag. You can have it back. Sam found it.'

'Sammy-boy? Where is Sam? No… no let's just enjoy the ride and talk business later. Much later. I have so many things I need to do first… and all of them with you! How exciting is that? You look very pale… must be the fucked up lighting in here. You don't have any reason to be worried, Babes. I'm not going to hurt you.' A small muscle at the edge of Floyd's eye twitched. 'You should know that… I'd never hurt you.' He didn't smile. A smile would have been too much… but he smirked and then leaned over and licked the side of Spencer's face. 'So fucking good! So good… I've been wanting this for so long, but I had to wait… wait and wait and watch and see you go from what you could have been to this shitty outcome. I truly am… remorseful. But I have a funny feeling that it's all your fucking fault. Do you know how long I had to stay on my knees for? Do you know how much shit I took because of you?'

'I don't know… I…'

'Shut the fuck up you babbling moron. I didn't tell you you could open that dirty slut of a mouth and talk to me did I?'

Spencer shook his head. 'Whatever it was I did… I'm sorry.'

And that muscle twitched again. 'Oh yes, I really think you might learn the meaning of that fucking word. Here we are. Pay the good man and give him a nice tip. No point in aggravating the natives.'


	5. Chapter 5

5

Floyd pushed Spencer into the room, slammed the door and locked it. He then shuttered the blinds and pulled the drapes. The room was hot and stuffy, but for now Spencer wasn't going to complain. He watched in terrified silence as Floyd walked around the room checking on things. Things had to be right. Floyd liked everything being in the right place.

The room was divided in two, the first part of the room had a small area to warm food up and a place to make coffee. There was the inevitable desk under the window. There was a divider made up of hanging beads in blues and greens. There were two good sized beds and a small very clean bathroom.

'Sit.' Floyd told Spencer who was standing looking as though he was ready to run at the first chance, though where he'd run to he had no idea… 'Sit! You look like a deer caught in the headlights.'

'What do you want with me?' Spencer sat on the small chair next to the desk. He really didn't want to go over to the beds… not when Floyd had that predator look on his face.

Floyd sat on one of the beds and bounced slightly on it. He raised an eyebrow at Spencer and gestured that he should join him. 'Sit – with me. We have so much to talk about and I don't want to have to bellow our business across the room. He patted the bed next to him. 'Sit.'

'I can hear you perfectly well from here.' Spencer crossed his legs and placed his hand in his lap. He watched the expression on Floyd's face change from one of amusement (?) to one which he thought many dead people might have seen just before they reached that _dead_ stage in their lives. He stood slowly and took a deep breath of hot air which sort of had a smell of melting plastic to it. 'I can get the lighter…'

'Fuck the lighter. OK? Mention it again and I might pull your balls off and feed them to… well… to myself. Get your arse over here and sit next to me. I want to smell you. I want to see the sweat popping out of your pores. And I want to touch you… gently of course. Now walk… one foot in front of the other… and a _little_ bit faster would be wonderful.' Floyd's slightly sarcastic tone was making Spencer want to shout at him, tell him to get the hell out of his room… the hell out of his life. If this was all about the lighter, he'd told him where it was! Why didn't he just take it and leave? He sat – eventually on the very edge of the bed just out of hands reach of Floyd. He put his hands on the bed at his side ready to push up and run if and when he had to.

'OK, I'm here. What do you want from me?' Spencer's voice was jerky and his mouth felt like it had been filled with sand. The air in the room seemed to have been sucked away. He felt light headed and more than a little bit sick.

Floyd moved slightly so he was sitting looking at Spencer's profile. It made his head giddy with lust and anger; two things which seemed to come to Floyd together regularly. 'Do you like your life?' Floyd asked him. 'Don't bother answering that because I know you don't. You fucked up so badly that it makes me want to cry. I've been watching you.'

Spencer turned to look at Floyd and his stomach suddenly felt as though it had been filled with concrete. 'Watching me?'

'Since – well since forever I suppose. I just wasn't permitted contact, but we've now passed the point of… let's call it _point A_ and now we can move on. What I really want to know is what you said to them. Why you did this. What was it I did to make you hate me so much?' Floyd still spoke quietly, almost as though he was in a church saying his personal prayers to whatever god he spoke to.

'I don't know you. How could I hate you?' Though he had a very good idea why he would hate this man if he did know him. 'I don't know what you're talking about.'

Floyd undid the buckle on his belt and looked at the fear on Spencer's face as he did it. 'Sweet little virgin.' Floyd muttered. 'I guess this is the only good thing which could possibly come out of all of this mess. I get to fuck you for the first time again.' He grinned and reached out, putting a hand on Spencer's leg. 'Do you know what I'll do if you scream?' He watched Spencer's eyes fill with pathetic tears. 'I'll not kill you, don't worry, but I'll beat you until you wished you _were_ dead. Just sayin'. So what I need you to do is remove your shirt. I need to see your back.'

Spencer didn't move. He didn't even breathe for a while. He tried to get his heart to stop thumping in his chest because the sound of the blood pumping in his ears was deafening him. 'My b, b, my back?'

'Sweet fuck… Dearest fucking hell. Please don't make me get blood over the soft furnishings yet. We've so much time to play with here, Babes and you're making things very difficult. Just remove your damned shirt before I tear it from your whining pathetic torso. Now… now would be a really good time, because I'm fast losing patience with you, my love.'

Spencer slowly undid the buttons on his shirt. It was taking too long though as his fingers were wet with sweat and they insisted on slipping over the small plastic buttons. He finally managed, but Floyd's heavy breathing wasn't helping this any. Spencer had read reports of violent rapes. But this was one of the oddest situations he could think of being in. The man had issued threats, but would he carry them out? Spencer considered standing to pull his shirt out from where he'd tucked it in, and then running from the room screaming _rape_ or murder or something, anything to get people around him, but he stayed sitting as he pulled the shirt off and dropped it onto the bed next to him. He then turned, still sitting, so that the insane man sitting on the bed with him could see his back.

A long sigh of disappointment… 'As I thought.' It was Floyd who stood and walked to the tiny kitchen area where there were to small glasses. He filled them both with water and then walked back to Spencer and held one out. 'You should drink plenty of water in this weather. It can kill you.'

Spencer took it, his hands shaking so much that some of the water spilled from the glass and onto the fabric of his pants. He sipped it slowly, never taking his eyes of the man standing in front of him. 'Thank you.' Spencer put the glass on the night stand and then folded his hands on his lap where they twisted and knuckles cracked and popped. He let out a yelp of surprise when two hard calloused hands rested on his and then gripped them tightly.

'You'll damage you hands if you do that.' He was using that gentle caring voice again. Spencer said nothing but looked at Floyd who was now kneeling on the floor in front of him. 'I said to myself when I was first released that I'd never go on my knees for any man ever again. I've spent a lifetime on them. I thought I'd never be able to stand again, and now look at me… on my knees in front of you. I've lived a long old time Spencer, and there have been so few people who could do this to me. So few… I must be very picky over who I let get to me like this.' His hands moved now to the waistband of Spencer's pants and Floyd heard a hiss of panicked air coming from over Spencer's teeth. 'You'll love it. Just relax and let me show you. It's late in life, I realise that. It's so much easier to… I dunno… explain… teach? Maybe teach isn't quite the right word, but let me show you something really wonderful.' He hands were now touching Spencer where no man should touch him.

'Please don't.' Spencer moaned.

'Put your hands on the top of my head, Spencer. You don't need to do anything but place them there and then lay back. I'll do everything else, but remember not to scream for help… because I don't want to have to shut you up… I want you to be able to enjoy this first time, like you did once before.'

'You're insane.' But his hands were there touching Floyd's shiny almost black hair… just with his fingertips for now.

'Very likely. But that doesn't make me a bad person, Spencer.'

'This is… This is…'

'Wonderful… that's what it is… I think that the only person who has ever existed who can out do me in this area is Sam… he's got the sweetest damned mouth and the most cunning tongue, but forget him… enjoy.'

The horror that Spencer could feel that his body was reacting to what this man was doing to him was just too much. He didn't care if Floyd killed him, he wasn't going to sit there and let this happen. Spencer gripped Floyd's hair tightly in his hands and pulled his head back away from him. 'Don't.'

'You're loving it already! Relax and pull my hair like that again and you'll be tasting your own blood.'

'I said don't!' Spencer brought up one knee so that it made hard contact under Floyd's chin, then as Floyd moved back… not in pain, but genuine surprise, Spencer ran. He didn't get very far… with the words… hissed from behind him…

'You fucking son of a _bitch_!'

Hands grabbed at Spencer's lower legs and over balanced him. He fell forwards, grabbing at the beading which divided the room, ripping it out of the not very secure housing which had been holding it in place. The lot was ripped down as Spencer fell in a tangle on the floor.

Floyd had the advantage… Not that things hadn't been to his advantage from the get go, but now this was really the way he liked things. Not only was he now on the back of Spencer's legs and crawling his way along to where he really wanted to be, but there was a load of very handy stings of beads to wrap around Spencer's neck. They were looped and were being pulled back cutting across Spencer's neck before Spencer could figure out exactly what it was had just happened. This man seemed to have more than one pair of hands. They were all over him… they pulled at the back of his cords, dragged and dug at his hips, pulled the strings of pretty beads tighter and as Floyd pulled Spencer up and onto his knees…. Yelling something which sounded like. 'Yaahoo… I'ma gonna ride my boy!'

Spencer tried to scream, but the thing around his neck was preventing him from doing much more than making odd gurgling sounds. Floyd was killing him… not just killing him, but killing him in the most vile and humiliating way Spencer could think of… and again that absolute horror that his body was reacting as though he was enjoying this!

'Sweet holy fuck!' Floyd howled out.

Spencer felt the spittle from Floyd's mouth splatter over his back as now the hand released the beads… one was holding Spencer in place by digging fingertips into the flesh just above the hips and the other was touching him, massaging him… and Spencer again wanted to scream and again nothing came out of his mouth but a deep moan.

'Push back!' Floyd again spat over Spencer's back.

Spencer tried to shake his head, maybe to say _no_ or maybe to get rid of the hair which had stuck to his sweaty face, but instead he let out a series of small yelps and did exactly what it was Floyd was telling him to do.

Then Floyd's words changed to ones more like… 'You fucking dirty slut! You little cunting bitch!'… more like the terms of endearment Floyd would usually use… Spencer felt Floyd's steady rhythm speed up… again he tried to tell Floyd to stop this… the thought that Floyd wasn't wearing a condom suddenly shot through his head and again he attempted to escape from the grasp Floyd had him in, but it seemed that the more he protested the better Floyd liked it… Spencer thought that the mad man who was raping him was biting his back… he could feel fingernails digging in around his hip bone. He could feel the frantic last few moments before Floyd ground himself against Spencer and then as suddenly as it had started – it stopped. At least that part of the experience stopped. Floyd moved back, flipped Spencer over onto his back and lay down on top of him.

'Want to fuck me? You seem like you're still available.' A small pause as he looked at Spencer's pale face covered in sweat… 'Ah… well. Too late it seems.' And Floyd made his way down Spencer's chest and stomach with his tongue and lips and nibbling with his teeth. 'Gods be damned… you taste so fucking good. I never want this taste out of my mouth again.'

'Get the hell off me!' Again Spencer tried to get Floyd to move, but even Spencer had to admit that it was sort of half hearted and now Floyd was sliding back up Spencer's body again.

'I've missed you so much I thought I'd die.'

'I don't know you.' Spencer replied.

'It hurts me that you say that. I need to know what you said to them. Why you did this. Didn't I support you when your mother was ill? Didn't I protect you from school bullies, help you with homework and essays? Didn't I prepare you… ahhh… sweet love… didn't I prepare you in oh so many delightful ways… and for uni. I told Gideon about you. I got mother a place at Bennington. I paid for every dream you could want… So with that knowledge, why did you deny me?'

Spencer lay unmoving under the man. He was scared to move. It felt as though he'd just been ripped in half and now he could feel that he was dribbling something and he had a good idea that it was blood. 'I'm bleeding.'

'Yeah… It's OK… Arses don't contain natural lubricants like a dirty stinking girl's cunt does. It'll be fine in an hour or so. You've not answered my question. We stood together through so much. I gave you everything, protected you, saved you… loved you… so what was it they offered you? I cant see that what you have now is better than what you had before. You're nearly thirty and just lost your virginity… Christ on a stick Spencer, how is that better than what was had?'

'We had nothing.'

'Ah…' Floyd got to his knees so he was sitting astride Spencer. 'Then we have a lot of making up to do.' He gave Spencer a small smile. 'I can make you so happy. I'll show you the true meaning of love and loyalty.'

'Great.' Spencer still didn't move. 'Except I'm not gay.'

Well this proved to be right back to square one for Floyd. How many times had he heard that declaration in the past? 'Yes you are.' Floyd told him and kissed him on the nose. 'You love it up the arse and you love sucking me off. I'm shocked and stunned that you've kept your hands off Sam… You _have_ kept your hands off Sam haven't you? No sneaky little touching when…'

'Stop it.' Spencer wanted a shower. He wanted to clean the blood off and he wanted privacy to inspect the damage.

'You don't think Sam has a lovely body?'

'I've never noticed Sam's body.' Spencer walked, trying not to show the pain he was in, towards the bathroom door, but Floyd was there again and a hand was on his shoulder.

'I need to remind you, because I think apart from forgetting that you're a stinking slut of a fag who will take it from a stranger if the price is OK… that I can tell when someone is being a dirty little liar and you Spencer Reid… you _have_ noticed that lovely body Sam has. Those long slender limbs and that tight hairless body… don't you just want to run your hands all over it… feeling his ribs under your fingers… feeling how hot and randy he gets just by touching him in the right places… he loves the collar bones… it sends him into a swirling frenzy… and just be careful if you try sucking his toes… Now tell me that you've never looked at his body and not lusted over it.'

'I've never even noticed…'

'LIAR!' Floyd howled… but with laughter in his voice. 'My god, Spencer! You are so far in denial that I'm going to have to use a crow bar on you to get you out again.'

'Sam is a teenager! He's a boy!'

'He's a fucking cunt! He was created for fucking! Tell me that you've never been curious about what it's like to snuggle with him and press yourself against that sweet young body of his… so slender you could almost snap it.' Floyd clicked his fingers together on both hands to demonstrate.

'Never.'

'When I get the two of you together we are going to have such fun! Go shower. You stink.'

Spencer showered with the door locked. He had the water almost cold to start with. He needed to get rid of the heat filling his body. I vile heat which swelled and soared when he thought about what Floyd had just done to him. He considered going to the cops and reporting him, but hadn't the cops asked if knew him? Hadn't they suspected that he did… and would they believe a coincidence like this? No… Would they believe that Floyd, who didn't look very threatening… not really… he was actually pretty scrawny himself… Not a big hulk of a man at all. He couldn't report it. They would laugh at him and then the accusations that he'd done something inappropriate with Sam would rise again. Spencer turned the heat up a bit now that those thoughts had sobered him slightly. He shampooed his hair and soaped everywhere he could reach. The small white bathroom had a fan in the wall which sucked the hot air out… it was really rather nice standing there under the warm water. He dried off quickly, wrapped a towel around his waist and then cleaned his teeth. When he opened the bathroom door, Floyd was standing there with a grin on his face.

'You like to use these. I've only personally used this one a few times and only out of absolute desperation. I assure you that I rinsed it off after. I'll do it for you if you want.'

Spencer looked at the thing in Floyd's hand and then looked up at his face and maybe for the first time noticed that the face looking at him was actually rather nice – maybe he'd go as far as saying that it was a lovely face… He sighed and looked again at the object Floyd was holding.

'A douche.' Spencer said.

'Are you calling me a douche or are you accepting my offer. Are you still bleeding?'

Spencer shook his head and pushed the object away which Floyd was offering. 'I'm fine.'

'Fine… just fine? I don't know whether to be pleased or offended. Go sit then and I'll pour coffee and we can watch some TV or I'll read. Do you have a book hidden away in that bag of yours?'

Spencer walked past Floyd and looked at the jumble of things spread over the bed. Floyd had emptied his bag out anyway. He'd know that there was no book in there. He gave the man an irritated look and snatched up clear underwear and some jeans. 'You have your lighter.' It wasn't a question. Spencer could see that it was gone. 'You should leave.'

Really it was like being thumped in the face; at least that's how it felt to Floyd. He'd given his boy everything and he was asking him to leave again? This was going to be a much bigger repair job than he'd anticipated. He thought that Spencer would fall into his arms with love and joy and that he could then stamp on his balls and shout at him… but this? This wasn't what he'd expected. Spencer was meant to be begging him… not the other way around.

'I'm not leaving.'

'I need to…'

'No, Spencer. You sweet little idiot… I'm not leaving. OK? I don't abandon people I love. I don't let someone go through the _shit_ I went through and then turn them away from me. I don't do that.' He walked up to Spencer and jabbed him in the chest with a finger. 'You do though. You desert a friend…' Floyd shook his head at his own words. 'Lover! I was your damned lover! I meant everything to you. I was your world. You cant survive without me! Look at you! Look at the fucking mess you're in. You need me! So don't you fucking tell me to leave!' His voice raised now to a loud and very clear shout. 'I've sacrificed so much to be with you…'

'I never asked you to. I don't even know you!'

'Yes you do!' Now hands were on Spencer's shoulders and he started a slow even shake. 'You gave some fucking bastard a deal! What the hell was it? What could be more important than me! Tell me what you said! What you agreed to!'

The shaking was bad enough now that Spencer would have been on his back on the floor if Floyd hadn't been holding onto his shoulders so tightly. His voice came out as a shaking sob. 'I don't know what you're talking about! All I know is that Sam found that lighter and when I touched it I remembered your name… I knew that I'd forgotten you. It made no sense at all because although I knew I'd forgotten you, I still remembered nothing except that I had to avoid you!'

'Then you will sit down.' Floyd pushed Spencer backwards hard. He stumbled back and when the back of his knees hit the edge of the bed he sat down with an Umph and a jolt of sudden pain… He might have stopped bleeding, but the pain was still there… almost like something was still rammed up his backside. He sat slightly to the side, resting on one buttock.

'You cant force someone to like you.' Spencer spat out. 'You cant rape someone and then expect them to like you for it.'

'Rape?' Floyd now looked puzzled. 'Forget that for now. I'm going to show you something and it might hurt your pretty little head and it might make you go insane but I'd rather have a bonkers Spence than this one which pretends he cant remember. So I'm going to let you remember some stuff… little bits of stuff, but I wasn't there for all of it. Don't move away from me!'

'Please… please don't. Whatever it is you have planned. I'll not report you to the police. I'll keep my mouth shut. I'll pretend it never happened.'

Floyd was sitting on Spencer's lap now, facing him and kneeling on the bed. He gave Spencer a small kiss on the mouth, one hand rested on the back of Spencer's head and the other on the side of his face. 'Good… good… so many years… I'd forgotten how wonderful your mouth tastes… so minty and fresh and…'

'Yours isn't so minty and fresh.' Spencer snapped back.

'Hush… just sit there and let me give you some sweet delicious memories… Kiss me Spence… come on.'

'Get off me.' Spencer said between clenched teeth. Floyd's breath was disgusting. When did that man last clean his teeth? Where had his mouth been… 'Oh – I'm… please… no.' The thought made Spencer feel he was going to throw up into Floyd's mouth. At least it would taste better!

Floyd slid his fingers up now into Spencer's hair at the side of this head. There was a strong waft of shampoo and quite a large amount of fear too seeping out of Spencer, but Floyd was going to have to show him. There was no way around this. He kept his hands flat on the side of Spencer's head and watched at first as Spencer's eyes went distant and blank, they then rolled back into his head and he slumped back onto the bed.

'Too fucking easy. I wanted to pound you into the naff carpet.' Floyd sighed.

o-o-o

Spencer had what he could only describe as a nightmare. The images flashing through his mind were horrific and emotionally painful. They showed his _love_ for Floyd and showed what Floyd had done for him, but even as these images appeared and went again he still had enough grip on his own reality to know that it _was_ a nightmare. These things cant be real. He didn't go to uni. He didn't join the Feds. He never had a relationship with this man… He knew that… it wasn't possible.

'Do you believe in reincarnation?' A voice echoed through his head and as it bounced around in his brain he watched as though from behind a tree or in the undergrowth as he killed himself. 'Do you believe in reincarnation?' That voice echoed again as he seemed to be standing in a dark cave with Floyd and Sam… 'Do you?'

Spencer woke up screaming in his head, but his mouth was silent. Someone and he could only guess it was the ever loving Floyd had put tape over his mouth and tied him face down naked on the bed. He pulled at the binds on his feet and wriggled his hands but the tape was there to stay until someone happened by and saw him in this state. Not the ideal way to be found. Especially if someone came in to clean the room. He would have been relieved to have known that Floyd had instructed the guy in reception not to clean the room.

'My buddy had a rough night.' Floyd gestured drinking. 'He'll wake up with a sore head, but right now he's sleeping it off. Appreciate it if you leave the room alone… for a few days.' He paid rent for the room for the next week and handed over a hefty tip. 'Mean as an old bear if he's woken from a drunken sleep. Sure you understand.'

'As long as you pay for damages.'

Floyd almost smiled and asked if he meant damage to the room or to Spencer, but didn't. He gave the man a small salute and left for the car hire lot just down the block. He had a Sam to collect and he needed to get back to Spencer not too late tomorrow. If this all went according to plan by breakfast time he'd have his dog and his boy back. It put a spring into Floyd's step and he jogged down the road elbowing people out of his way. One child who seemed to think he owned the side walk with his skateboard got a hand in his face and was knocked backwards. Did anyone protest? Nope… not a soul. Maybe they didn't even really see Floyd. Maybe he was that glimmer of a shadow which they only saw in the corner of their eyes or in store front windows. Really though there were a lot of people still around considering it was night time. Fucking people. They should be at home tending their husband's needs and the husbands should by all rights be having affairs, the kids though? What the fuck they still doing up? They're just asking to be snatched by some pervert creep… like himself… But Floyd wasn't in the mood today to put the fear of hell into some kid, he was going to go get his Sam! And there was going to be blood! Oh yes! There was… even if it wasn't necessary. Floyd was in a killing mood again today… he was sated sexually and now he needed something else… something tasty. Something raw.


	6. Chapter 6

6

Sam had been given a room for the night. He'd had a shower and he was wearing pyjamas provided for him by the _unit_ he was staying in. No amount of protestations were going to make a difference. They ignored his cursing and told him in very understanding, gentle and almost creepy voices that tomorrow they would talk, but tonight he had to rest.

The hospital… disguise the name as Sunflower Meadows if you wish, but it was still a hospital… was a squat white building… wide and three storeys high. The gardens were yellow dead grass… the windows were high, narrow and barred. It looked like a cross between an old office block and a prison. It smelt like a hospital though.

Sam went to his room begrudgingly… dragging his heels which were in blue slippers and moaning that it was too hot. It was _hot_. The air even within the cool hospital walls was close and thick. It was like trying to breathe in through a hot wet flannel. Sam could see the sweat on the faces of the people working there. He could actually smell the heat coming off them. He'd told them that he didn't want to wear pyjamas and that he'd rather sleep naked, but it was requested that instead he removed the bed covers. They didn't want naked young men walking around the ward and Sam's protests that he'd stay in his room were ignored… It seemed that everything he said was ignored. They wanted to make no decisions on anything until the doctors had spoken to him.

The room was small… not much longer than the bed. There was nothing else in there apart from a window. He was shown where the bathroom was across the hall and actually surprised Sam by saying that he'd not be locked in, but not to under any circumstances wander off into someone else's room. He was shown the emergency button and told that someone would come and check up on him during the night so not to worry if he saw someone opening his door. No he couldn't lock himself in, but there were orderlies on duty and nurses available if something went wrong.

'Not that we think anything is going to go wrong.' He was assured – except it didn't feel very reassuring.

So he lay on his back in the tiny hot room wondering what snow felt like and how good it would feel to make snow angels… but the idea of that sort of cold was being allusive. At midnight there was a light tap on the door and a tall man wearing white walked in.

'If you cant sleep I can ask someone to get you something.' There was something odd about the man, but Sam was tired and put it down to that. It was as though the man was slightly out of focus and his voice almost had a hollow echo to it.

Sam asked for a bucket of ice cubes… and the man smiled and said something about the dreadful heat and then left again. He tried to sleep. He rolled onto his side with a sigh and lay staring at the wall next to the bed. Sam might have actually fallen asleep, but he thought not, but he didn't hear the tapping on the door this time. He only knew that someone was in the room with him because when he opened his eyes he could see the shadow of someone on the wall. The way the light played made this person look impossibly tall and wide. Sam blinked and when his eyes dared look again the shadow had changed shape. Whoever was in his room was closer to the bed now. Not that it was possible to be far away… the room was more of a coffin than a bedroom.

'Hush.' A voice muttered and to Sam's horror someone sat on the bed. 'Don't move. Just listen.'

'I'll scream.' Sam informed the voice.

'It's just me. I need you to tell me what you offered the blokes in The Bastion… or maybe what they offered you?'

Sam rolled onto his back and looked at Floyd sitting there on his bed. 'How did you get in?'

'Not your problem. Just tell me…'

'Are you going to hurt me?' Sam whimpered.

'Oh yes.' Floyd nodded. 'I'm going to hurt you real bad, but firstly you need to try to remember. You know who I am?'

'Floyd.' Sam whispered.

'First hurdle over. Now tell me what happened. I'll have you tell me that before I mash that treacherous hide of yours into next week, unless you tell me what I want to hear.' Floyd ran fingers over the side of Sam's face. 'Does Spencer watch you?'

Sam looked confused for a moment and then slowly nodded. 'But it's like he's looking at a nice picture. It's creepy and odd the way he looks, but yes.' He hoped to the gods that was what Floyd wanted to hear.

'Have your propositioned him?'

'I'm not gay! What the fuck!' Sam's voice raised slightly and Floyd placed a finger over Sam's lips.

'Keep your voice down and get up off the bed.'

'NO!' Sam shouted this… it was the last thing he shouted for a while though.

o-o-o

Spencer had managed to get some of the tape away from his mouth, but only enough to get a little extra air into his lungs. He thought he was going to die. It felt much as though he'd been splayed out on a barbeque it was so hot. He was stuck to the bedding he was laying on and had just managed to get one foot free when the motel room door swung open and a limp Sam was hurled into the room. He fell to the floor in a quiet lump. Floyd slammed the door, locked it, stepped over Sam and walked to Spencer. He quickly ripped off the tape on his mouth causing Spencer's lips to bleed slightly. Floyd then released Spencer's other foot and finally his hands.

'You didn't have to do this.' Spencer snarled as he licked the tiny pinpricks of blood off his lips.

'Yes, I did have to do this.' Floyd said back. 'Water? I told you to drink a lot when the weather's like this… it's like hell out there.' Floyd raised an eyebrow at Spencer and then looked at Sam and then back at Spencer again. 'You know… this heat is really very unusual. I snagged this on the way back.' He dropped a newspaper onto the bed next to Spencer. 'It's a local rag. Printed yesterday. I thought it was very interesting.' Floyd got up and walked back to Sam. He took one of his hands and dragged him to the bed, keeping one eye firmly on Spencer the whole time.

'Is he going to be all right?' Spencer asked about Sam. He could just about see that the lad was breathing, but there seemed to be little else as a sign of life.

'I don't know. I think…' Floyd lay Sam on his side on the bed. '…I think not. I have a feeling about something which I would like to put to the pair of you, but firstly read the rag and tell me what strikes you.'

It didn't take Spencer long to read it. There was a report of someone winning some money and in the excitement dropping dead. There was a very brief report about the incident at the barn… a few missing people had been identified. Mrs. Jenkins had won a pair of thermal socks in a lottery and Marvin Haskill had won a gas fuelled barbeque which he'd refused to accept saying that he liked to cook over charcoal. The back pages were reserved for sport… there was a tribute to a dead cyclist and some recaps on some sporting events. The inner pages also said how house prices were rising and a few local shops were unable to renew their lease due to sudden rises in rents.' Spencer placed the newspaper to one side. He wasn't sure what it was he was meant to be looking at. Nothing there except for the naming a few locals as victims had anything to do with him… and he thought not Sam either.

He watched Floyd walk to the bathroom, run a faucet and wet a small hand towel. He firstly wiped the sweat off his own face and then took the towel and sat on the bed with Sam, slowly wiping the sleeping face. 'Anything?' Floyd asked Spencer.

'No… nothing much has happened by the look of it.'

'Except a lot has happened Spencer and that kind of bothers me.'

'It seems a lot bothers you.' Spencer watched those hands touching Sam and a jolt of jealousy gushed through him.

Floyd folded the wet towel and laid it over Sam's forehead. 'I might have given him some sort of hideous brain damage. Fingers crossed he wakes up and actually remembers who he is.' Floyd stood, walked to where Spencer was and sat on the bed with him. 'I gave you some memories.' Floyd spoke slowly…

'You gave me a nightmare.'

'I _gave_ you back some memories.'

Spencer cocked his head slightly to one side. 'Was I in an accident? Have I got brain damage? Am I in a coma? Is that what is going on here?'

'You died.' Floyd told Spencer bluntly. 'You killed yourself because Sam had died when under your protection and I had jumped off a roof. You couldn't live without us and you took a massive heroin overdose.' Floyd tapped Spencer on the arm. 'So I can really give you a bucket load of assurances that you're not brain damaged. You are simply… dead.'

'Dead.' Spencer stood up. 'That's a real good one Floyd. Very good. You were freaking me out but now I see… This is some kind of prank. It's not amusing you know?'

'Was there any mention in the rag about the temperature? Anything about the elderly dying, the water restrictions, the fires, the babies dying of dehydration… dogs in cars… anything?'

Spencer looked back at the newspaper and shook his head. 'No… are there water restrictions?'

Floyd shrugged. 'Not a one. The hydrants are blasting the kids sitting on the sidewalks. Kids with burns on their faces and eyes so swollen they can hardly see. Kids roaming the streets at night. Not a damned mention. There's smoke out there. I don't know what's burning, but something is. The blacktop is getting just a bit soft… plants are dead, trees, bloated dogs and cats in the gutters… the smell is like something I've only experienced once before.'

'Where?'

'Oh Babes… you might have made a deal with someone, and my Sammy-boy might have tried something for himself, but you cant just walk away from someone you're bonded to and expect life to turn out roses. You really didn't think that did you? Did Sam ask for a soul? That's really all I need to know.'

Spencer walked to the small kitchen area. He had on boxer shorts and nothing else. Little bits of plastic beading dug into the bottom of his feet, but he ignored the discomfort for now. He was confused, getting mixed memories and images in his head. He could see Sam being tortured. He could see him hanging there by his arms and he did something…

He turned to look at Floyd who was prodding Sam in the stomach. 'They would have killed him. I could have refused it, but they would have killed Sam and I swore to protect him. Really I thought I was doing the right thing.'

'So you accept that you're dead?'

Spencer slammed down the kettle. 'No… actually I don't accept it. I think you're insane and…'

'Fine… fine. Make your mind up. I know Sam asked for a soul. I equally know that it cant happen. I know that you agreed to forget me in exchange for Sam getting what he wanted. So… Sam's still a fucked up little pathetic soulless demon and I'm certainly still me… seems that you're the one who lucked out. We can go through this as many times as you want. Start your life over… have a clean break from me, but what it boils down to, like it or not… I was the making of you. Sure you died young… but the good die young Spence.' He smiled. 'I'm ancient.'

'You think you know what's going on. Tell me. Explain it.'

'We're in hell Sweety. Slowly burning. Probably strung up by our wrists or ankles… swinging in the fiery winds of the pit. We are fucked. That's what we are, Spencer. I've spent fuck knows how long on my knees… I'll beg no man to release me… so they didn't. They tricked me… Told me that I could have you back if I left you alone… said things would be great! And like a fucking cunt I believed them! I actually thought I'd get another chance! What a fucked up excuse I am! Cant you smell it Spencer? Cant you smell that stench of cooking flesh… that's probably you, maybe me… or Sam.'

'I'm leaving.' Spencer walked to his pile of clothes. You have a serious problem and you need help. I suggest you go and get some.'

Floyd threw a few items of clothes in Spencer's direction. He was pissed off… maybe with _Them_ maybe with the guy in the green and yellow coat and maybe with Spencer and Sam… and moreover he was pissed off with himself. He'd wasted so much time farting around when he could have been dragging his boys back to him from the very start. 'Tomorrow we will leave. Sam needs time to recover and then we will leave together. If there's anywhere left to go…' Just as Floyd spoke a loud _crump_ boomed out. It made the windows of the room rattle and the door seemed to heave inwards slightly in its frame. 'Woah. Something just exploded. Maybe you're right…'

Spencer slipped into the light green cotton pants Floyd had thrown at him. He'd never seen them before, but they fitted him nicely. 'I meant that I would leave alone. I'm not going anywhere with you. You raped me! Have you forgotten that? Because I sure haven't! I'll never be the same again! You tied me to the bed and did some sort of something to my head and gave me these…ideas… thoughts…You've attacked Sam, killed those people at the barn and the guys at my place. I was trying to believe that this wasn't happening…'

'But it is.' Floyd lobbed over a white and green checked shirt. 'Put that on. We are staying together and you will eventually see that I'm right. Yes I killed some people. Sure… you would rather they killed you? The good old chuckle brothers would have strung you up by your fucking intestines, because you're no more able to stay off the drugs than Sam is. What is it about me that feels attracted to fucking junkie bitches?'

'I'm not a junky and nor is Sam.'

Floyd stepped close to Spencer. Very close. Close enough for Floyd to wrap his arms around Spencer and place one hand on the small of his back and the other just above his left hip. As Floyd spoke his lips brushed Spencer's sore mouth. 'Babes, your denial about everything is getting boring. You take drugs. You think they make you feel good… OK… take them… I'm not against that in the slightest – I admit that I have my own little addictions, but don't you fucking deny it again. You have a drug dependency problem. You think that the world only has bright colours and the birds only sing when you're high and you might be right, but you, my sweet thing are an addict. Sam is going to deny it too. He's already tried telling me that he's straight. Why is it such a problem to admit what your sexuality is and to admit that you like to enhance your senses with chemicals?'

'I'm confused.'

'Let me un-confuse you.'

'Step back and listen to me… let me think how I'm going to say this. Your close proximity is…'

'Nice?' Floyd pushed one of his hips hard against Spencer. 'Going to give denial another chance?'

'Something is wrong. I admit that. Something is really off kilter. I thought it was the dreams and nightmares, but it's not… it's this…' Spencer gestured around the room and pointed towards the door. 'I thought that there was something wrong with me. I thought that I had no… libido… or something. It's not the kind of thing you go and talk to a doctor about. I just was never interested in anyone sexually… not until…'

'Me?'

Spencer shook his head slowly. 'Sam.' The word came out as a sigh. 'I've never touched him. I've never… even on those occasions he's asked… I've just never… but now you?'

'Me?' Floyd asked again.

'It feels as though I've waited my whole life for you. And I don't want to be raped. I don't want to be beaten and attacked, but it's going to happen anyway and there's nothing I can do to prevent it… is there?'

'Not a damned thing.' Floyd licked his lips and then licked Spencer's. He wanted Spencer to fall into his arms. He wanted to feel Spencer's arms around him and he so really needed Spencer to give him a lovely minty kiss, but it didn't happen. Spencer slipped out of his grasp and walked over to where Sam was lying silently on the bed. 'Can I trust you to keep an eye on Sam whilst I go get something? Keep him safe? If in doubt I can always tie you up again, but that'll be no good to Sam and I want you to lock the door when I leave. I'll be about half hour… maybe a little longer. Actually as I have to walk there I might be more like a hour or so, but you just sit there and wait for me OK? Will you do that? If not for me then do it for Sam as your loyalty to him seems to outweigh any loyalty you once had for me.'

Spencer flopped back down on the bed again. 'Go. I'm not leaving Sam alone… not here and not alone with you either. So just go and do whatever it is you think you have to do.'

Floyd nodded slowly and walked back to the bed. He again went down on his knees and placed a hand on each of Spencer's knees. 'Babes, once I made a promise to you, but things have gone bad… rotten and I have to take back what I promised. I need you to give me permission to do so.'

Spencer looked at the hands on his knees. He wanted to place his own over the top of them and grasp them tightly. He wanted to lean in and feel Floyd's mouth against his, but he just nodded. 'What is it? What did you promise me?'

'I need to get some weaponry. There is a war going on Spencer and we're not going to survive this unless we can defend ourselves. I'm going to have to renege on the promise not to use firearms around you. I need to get my guns.' He paused and dug fingertips into Spencer's knees. 'Please?'

It was a slow nod Spencer gave Floyd. Guns… the man was a dangerous psychopath who seemed to be well on the way to convincing him that they were in hell… and now he wanted his permission to get a gun? 'I… I don't know…' Spencer muttered.

To his shock Floyd moved his hands and gave a small nod. 'Very well. I'll stay here then. No point in leaving as that's all I really needed to get, but when the shit hits the fan, Spencer… you're going to wish…'

'Go… get the damned gun.' Spencer snapped at him. 'You don't need my permission, but I feel that I'm giving you the go ahead to put a bullet in my brain.'

Floyd didn't react to that. It was too close to being true that he thought he'd have to just agree… 'Lock the door behind me. Don't open it for anyone else. Even if you think you know who it is. Only me OK?'

'OK.'

And a little surface tingle hoped that Floyd wouldn't come back… and a deep down fear hoped that he'd be back sooner than an hour. 'Be careful.' Spencer whispered and this time for some reason Spencer couldn't fathom, he did wrap his arms around Floyd and gave him that deep toe curling kiss. He felt his heat building even though this was a man who had attacked him and tied him up… it made no damned difference. He would have at that point in time give Floyd anything he asked for. 'Be quick and be careful.'

Floyd gave Spencer a quick ear nibble. 'Absolutely. I think I might be on a promise here.' He patted the side of Spencer's face. 'Look after Sam.'

'I will. Just…'

'Be careful. I will.'

o-o-o

Spencer watched as Floyd jogged away across the parking lot. It actually looked as though smoke or steam was curling up between paving stones. Whatever it was going on out there it wasn't natural. Not normal. The heat was horrendous. It was very much like the heat which nearly knocked you off your feet when standing in front of a jet engine. At least that's how he imagined it. Spencer stood there and watched Floyd's retreating back until he was out of sight around the corner. Spencer briefly wondered why he hadn't taken the car and then closed the door. The air was almost un-breathable. He could see smoke rising from somewhere in the distance and wondered if it was that which had exploded. There were no wails from police cars… the traffic he could see was moving slowly… the windows dark. Spencer tried to imaging who was driving and who the passengers where and if they were watching him watching them. He locked the door and then stood for a while leaning on it. He had a horrible feeling that Floyd wasn't going to come back again. Whatever hellish thing was going on outside would get him. He sat on the bed next to Sam and put his head in his hands. He could feel deep shuddering breaths pulling up from way down inside of him. He squeezed his eyes closed and let out a breath of hot sticky air.

'Spencer?' Sam touched Spencer's back making him jump and let out a small yelp of surprise. 'What's going on?'

Where to start? Tell Sam that he thought that they were in hell? Spencer laughed softly. How mad did that sound when sitting here with Sam in a motel room? 'You're awake. I'll get you a drink of water.' Spencer stood but Sam grabbed at the back of Spencer's shirt.

'Where's Floyd?'

Spencer pulled away from Sam and shook his head. 'Go and have a shower. It'll help you feel better.'

'Is that why you take so many showers? Hoping it will make you feel better? I don't want to feel better. I feel fine as I am. Why is it so fucking hot?' Sam rubbed at the back of his head. 'The bastard smacked my head on the wall. At least I think he did. I'm going to get a drink of water. You've not said why it's so damned hot. This is fucking stupid… Where's the air con?'

Sam turned on the faucet in the little kitchen area. It spluttered and groaned and then spat out black slime. Sam turned it off again and walked towards the door. He thought he'd go get a soda or something and maybe something to stop the thumping pain in his head. He reached for the door, but Spencer put a hand on his arm and pulled him back again and told him to go and sit back down on the bed. Sam wiped his sweaty hands on the side of his blue and pink pyjama bottoms and gave Spencer a calculating stare. 'Where's Floyd?' Sam asked again this time using his _bitch_ voice.

'He's gone to get something. We're to stay here and wait.'

'And did he have any idea what was going on?' Sam walked away so that his back was to Spencer.

'He did.' Spencer then told Sam what Floyd thought was going on… and at first as he conveyed the idea it sounded like he was a lunatic, yet the more he spoke it aloud the more it seemed that it was real.

Sam walked to the bathroom and stood for a while staring at his face in the mirror. When he sat back down on the bed his face was pale and sticky, but there were two very clear clean wet lines down his face. 'All this time? All this fucking time and it was someone having a sodding game with us? Why? What the hell did I do to deserve that?' _Betrayal, disloyalty, greed, selfishness…_ and those were just the things Sam wanted to admit to. 'They said I would get a soul. He showed it to me. It was in his hand, glowing and pulsating… my life… he had it there. I saw it Spencer. I saw it! It's all I've ever wanted. I just wanted to be my own self.' Spencer wanted to know if Sam remembered everything… 'Oh… yes… every last thing.' He put the heel of his hands against his eyes and pressed. He didn't want to cry. He didn't want to show Spencer that he was not annoyed that they'd been tricked, so much that he had lost the thing he wanted most in life. 'Floyd is going to kill us.' Sam mumbled.

'Floyd is going to make what's left of our lives very painful. I agree. But we cant do this on our own. We've proved that pretty well already don't you think? We need him and we are going to have to work with him if we are going to get out of this…'

'Alive?' Sam snorted a laugh. 'This is our existence. This is what we asked for. We said we'd forget Floyd… Well we forgot him and didn't we manage just fucking fine on our own? We were happy weren't we?' Though Sam knew as he said it that they'd been a long way from happy. It had been simply miserable. Sam had been sold to creepy parents who kept him locked in a room… and they did things. Horrible things, but he'd survived and that's what it was all about wasn't it? They'd survived without the influence of Floyd pressing down on them. A horrible demonic monkey on their shoulders… 'Were you happy, Spencer?' Sam asked him cautiously.

Spencer hadn't been happy. It had felt from when he was a young boy that something was missing. He had thought it was paternal love… he thought it was because his mother was ill. He thought it was because he was bullied at school from everything from his haircut to his shoes… He thought it was because he felt different. But that hadn't been the reason. It was Floyd he'd been missing. 'I don't understand, when we touched the lighter we remembered some things, but not everything.'

'I did.' Sam muttered. 'Well I thought I did. I don't know. Maybe there's stuff I still have to remember. What did Floyd do to you to get you to remember?' Sam followed that question with a hand gesture and a raised eyebrow. 'Oh my fucking god! He screwed you! Floyd fucked you and now you think he's some sort of god? Oh shit… you stupid arsehole!' Sam stood… walked in a circle and then went rummaging for cigarettes. 'Was it good? Was it worth waiting for? All those times you watched me in the shower… Oh fucking hell! Oh my God! That's suddenly so fucking funny I think I'm going to piss myself! Where are the damned smokes… please don't tell me we don't have any. How long is Floyd going to be… if I offer him my mouth do you think he'll…'

'He said an hour. I don't know how long he's been gone.' Spencer pointed to the small clock on the wall. 'The clocks have stopped.' Spencer didn't want to hear Sam say he wanted Floyd. Spencer had only just gotten used to this and he didn't want Sam getting in the way now. He was almost tempted to tell Sam to go out and look for Floyd, but he didn't. 'He'll not be long.' Spencer told him as he tossed over a red and white pack of cigarettes.

It was possibly another half an hour later when they heard distant gun shots.


	7. Chapter 7

7

_Don't blink… keep looking. Don't close your eyes. If you close your eyes it just gets worse when you open them again. Ignore the screaming. Ignore the shouts… don't trust that kid beckoning you over… keep walking… nay… start jogging! What you fucking walking for?_

'I'm too hot. _It's_ too hot to run.' Floyd muttered to himself. Like Spencer had noticed, Floyd could also see steam pouring out from in between some of the paving slabs. It looked as though some great underground water vat had boiled over and was venting through the ground… through the storm drains… except the stuff crawling out of the storm drains didn't look like steam. It had an almost solid appearance to it and looked yellow at the core. Floyd broke into a loping run as he caught his reflection in the window of a closed store. All the shops were closed. Locked up. Had they ever even been open? As his feet clattered over the stone floor and as he hopped and skipped over the places where the steam was shooting out of, some of the shop awnings began to smoke and blacken. The yellow and red one which had given shoppers shade outside LeMarie Boutique for all Occasions… burst into flame just as Floyd passed it. The next shop was a shoe shop. He knew that because it had _Tansy Shoes_ written across the front, but that's the only way Floyd would have known. The actual shop was empty. The glass grubby and if he'd stood and really looked closely, Floyd would have thought that the glass was rippling and maybe even melting… it was certainly thicker at the bottom than the top and a small shiny puddle had begun to form next to the barred doorway.

He knew that whatever enchantment had been used to fascinate and fool them was slowly disintegrating. The streets were almost empty. The people who were still there watched him run by with a lethargic curiosity. Sores ran over their skins like a disease. One young woman with a very short skirt and a vest top on, had lifted her skirt as Floyd ran towards her. He glanced at what she was doing… picking at scabs in places nice young ladies shouldn't have a scab… he shook his head at her, not really knowing why… surely she wasn't propositioning him? He thought it was more of a _My god you're disgusting_ shake of the head he gave her. He heard her cries and obscene catcalls as he carried on running past the empty shops… Somewhere something else went _pop_ and there was a loud clatter and a tinkling of glass. It might have been a shop window giving in or one of the apartments above the shops maybe.

He skidded around the next corner and came to a stop. Something up ahead was belching out black thick smoke from the front and shooting red and orange flames from tiny… too small windows… there was a charred body hanging out of one of those windows and another draped over the fire escape… the latter body looked as though it was partially eaten.

'This could all be another enchantment. It could all be in my mind. I might still be on my knees somewhere. This could all be a test.' But there was no time to test his theory… he ran onwards, holding his breath for part of the way, to avoid inhaling too much stinking black smoke.

There is a certain smell in the air when human flesh is cooking. A rich delicious smell which is almost, but not quite, like pork. Floyd distinctly remembered many eons ago when he'd been in a capricious mood, he'd been out and met up with a strange guy… probably in his fifties… They had some jars together and went for a walk through summer fields… crushing daisies and buttercups under their feet. Floyd sort of encouraged the feeling of moroseness… he even cried a bit to get the guy (sorry cant remember his name.)… to cry with him. By the time they reach the railway tracks which cut through the fields the bloke was suicidal.

'Go stand on the third rail.' Floyd had said.

So he did! That easy… but the smell! Floyd watched the electricity kill the man. I could hear the fat and blood and other fluids sizzling. He watched the eyeballs explode and the tongue fly out all swollen and black. He'd sat there and taken in that sweet scent of burning death for a while and then walked away and bought a burger from a van in the high street…

That was the same smell he could feel filling his senses now… That delicious sweet smell of human flesh being cooked. Thus, he could say on very good authority that it wasn't himself he could smell and nor was it Sam.

The rest of his journey to recover his bike and the guns he had there was not uneventful, but if someone had asked for a minute for minute account he'd not have been able to deliver. It was more like a few separate incidences which had nothing to connect them. He remembered piling out of the smoke. He remembered the shattering of windows above him… and then nothing but the high red brick walls until someone walked out in font of him. Floyd let out a disgusted groan and a large man wearing speedos and nothing else but brown sandals with blue socks, made a grab for him.

Floyd took in a lot of information in the few seconds that the guy had a hold of him. He was burned red, his skin was lumped up in huge yellow blisters the size of dinner plates. The man didn't seen to have eyes as such, but weeping slits in his swollen face where his eyes should have been. His lips were swollen and it looked as though if the man spoke that they'd slip and fall right off his face. He was standing in front of Floyd with a hand on each of Floyd's shoulders. It was a headbutt which Floyd decided to do and he instantly wished he'd not. It was like forcing you head at some speed into a rotting pumpkin. The guy's face collapsed and the bones which had been holding his face in place gave way easier than if they'd been made of a thin layer of wax… Floyd didn't mind eating brains. It had never revolted him the way it seemed to revolt most people… all people actually, but suddenly finding that your head was now encased inside someone else's rubbery melting skull wasn't much fun. Floyd pushed the man away and he seemed to slide for a while… leaving his skin behind like it had been some sort of soggy loose fitting garment.

'Fucking fuck.' Were the words Floyd mumbled as he wiped brain and bits of half cooked skin off his face and pulled bits out of his hair. 'A lesson learned. Fuck it.'

And onwards he jogged. He missed the place where the man hole covered had popped up and out of place and long skinny sick looking tentacles were crawling from. He jumped over a rotting _thing_… couldn't tell what it had been but he was sure if he kicked it over it would have been fully cooked on the under side. He thought it was a woman though. 'Gross.' He kept on going.

The warehouse he had his bike stored in was standing with open doors and no one around to keep an eye on the contents. His heart sunk as he thought about the horrible things which could have happened to his beautiful bike… _I would fuck that bike if I could_… thoughts went through his head. There was an alleyway and a small lane and the other side of that lane were the open gates to the complex and then the warehouse. There seemed to be no one around. He thought he could hear a car revving a motor somewhere but the traffic here was zero. Cars were parked up along the edge of the road, some of them at strange angles as though the driver had just dumped it there and run. Or maybe they were there waiting for someone to cross the road and they'd do what that other vehicle was doing… and would run him down. Squash him into the slightly bouncy blacktop. Before crossing the road he checked it out. He walked quickly down the smelly hot sidewalk. It was much narrower here and the paving was cracked and old. Green ooze was bubbling its way out from between some of the cracks and smoke… it was smoke here and not steam… was issuing out of others. They were easy to avoid though. Floyd had a funny feeling that the green stuff would glow in the dark. He had no problem with the temptation to bend down and inspect it closer. The first car he looked in was empty, but there was something black spilt over the diver's seat and splashed up the window. Floyd assumed rightly that it was baked on blood. He dreaded to think of the temperature inside that metal coffin. The following one had a body in it slumped over the steering wheel and a bloated rotting something strapped into a car seat in the rear. He didn't bother looking at others. There was no one alive enough around here to drive a car.

Still he looked both ways before crossing the road at a run, and then slipped silently through the gates where behind the warehouse stood. There was dried yellow grass and some dead plants which had once been growing around the edges. Carefully and without making sudden movements he hunkered down and put his fingertips onto the ground. The first time he did it he flinched back and spat on the tips of each finger and then he tried again. He felt for vibrations of people walking or running. He felt for the humming thrum of machinery and there was nothing.

He slipped into the hellish furnace of the warehouse. His bike was stored in a container. He knew which number it was… some of the containers had been emptied. The locks smashed and the contents removed. Maybe by the owner. Floyd didn't know or care as long as his bike and the guns were safe. He'd paid a lot of money to store it here. He laughed at that. It echoed around the warehouse and made it sound like the insane cackle of someone who had lost his mind. 'HA!' Floyd shouted. A protest. He wasn't insane. He thought he was the most sane he'd been in a long time.

The bike was safe, but whether he could ride it back to the motel on those slightly giving roads he didn't know. He firstly strapped on a shoulder holster, then stuffed a loaded automatic pistol in it. He added a gun belt and after tying the holster to his leg he added another loaded pistol to that. Then he stopped. If this was not real… if none of this had been actual… if they were still in hell… then his promise would still stand.

'Fuck'

He was about to remove them again and remembered Spencer saying that it was OK… the promise was no longer binding. 'Well fuck.' Floyd muttered again and after checking the contents of the panniers and transferring it all into a couple of backpacks… he slipped them over his shoulders and mounted his bike. 'My darling.' It felt hot between his legs. Not a nice comforting hot but a rather nasty burning heat. 'And what are the chances that I'll turn my darling on and it'll explode?' This comment made him laugh again and this time he had to accept that _yes_ that was the laughter of someone who had lost him mind.

The bike thrummed happily between his legs… the temperature gauge shop up into the red immediately and the gas was low, but it would get him to the motel.

At least as he left the warehouse and moved slowly over the broken up ground with the dead plants around it, he thought it would get him back to the motel.

He was wrong.

Luckily he was being sensible. Had he been in a car all sense would have left him and he'd had driving like the devil, but this was his darling bike and he was being more cautious. Sometimes though you can be as cautious as you want and disaster will still strike. It wasn't his fault. He would say that until the day he died… which he had a feeling was going to be right there on the corner of Appleton and Felix. He took the corner with grace and ease and was keeping a very careful eye out for things which go BOO! He was glancing in the store windows… one of them had a blazing fire going on inside of it. He moved the bike a bit faster because he didn't want the glass to suddenly blow out and fill him with a million shards of glass, but as his attention wavered from the road and he looked into the next store to see what was happening in Starbucks (nothing was happening as it happened) he missed the open manhole in the road. The front tyre dipped, the bike slewed sideways and Floyd instinctively threw himself aside. His instincts were there for a good reason it seemed. The hot melting blacktop ripped through his clothing and though he'd not been going over 30 it was plenty fast enough to dish out considerable damage. He felt the fabric of his shirt being ripped up out of the way and he let out a long howl of pain as the limp tarry road glued it self to his skin from his hip to his armpit. He felt one of the backpacks being torn off his back and something like hot wax oozed over his bare skin.

He had no time to lay there and feel sorry for himself. He rolled to his knees and yelled out in anger and pain.

The vermin always arrive when something is weakened.

And they arrived.

Floyd managed to get to one knee, pull his lost backpack towards himself and open fire. He wasn't even sure if he was hitting anything and gunfire from an unsuppressed weapon makes a bit of a noise. This was no good if you were being sneaky, or _trying_ to be sneaky, but it worked wonders when you were better off scaring the fuckers away. The things coming for him were much like the guy in the speedos, only these were partially dressed. Their skin was peeling back off their bodies in long (tasty) strips. A couple of them got a round in the head. Two of them were hit the leg and someone got a round in the neck. He then fired at the shop windows as he slowly got to his feet. And with one hand holding onto the backpack with the ripped straps he moved back. 'Get the fuck away from me!' He shouted at them. 'Get the fuck away or you're all dead!' He howled at them now and fired again for good luck, taking a grey haired man in the remains of a business suit in the arm. He had been aiming for the head and in his weird panic, and grief at the loss of his bike which was sinking down into the blacktop. He spun on his boot heels and ran… a terrible agonising painful run it was too.

The door to the motel room was closed. He lifted a hand and started to hammer on it. 'Let me in! Unlock the fucking door you sodding arses!'


	8. Chapter 8

8

When the door was opened on the second knock it was as though he'd been shot through the entrance by a flame thrower. Floyd knew he was smoking hot, but this was taking it to the extreme. Sam, always helpful and never a selfish thought in his head, screamed and ran for the darkness under the bed. Spencer slammed the door shut and locked it again and Floyd rolled around on the floor with the ends of his hair smoking and the soles of this boots caked in tar. Floyd had an incredible high pain tolerance. He would have earned a fortune selling it to women in the final stages of labour, but this was hurting him like a son of a bitch. He rolled around tearing off his clothing and swiping at his hair shouting for someone to throw water on him before he spontaneously combusted.

'The water is off.' Spencer muttered through lips which were going numb. He thought it was the shock. Floyd said he'd be careful. He didn't like to think what would have happened if he'd not been. He dragged a cover off one of the beds and threw it over Floyd, hoping it would do something to stop that look that Floyd was on the verge of being barbequed. The cover was in a wavy pattern of greens and blues, almost like the sea and Spencer almost expected to hear a hissing sound as it covered Floyd. Of course it did nothing but stick to the stuff stuck to Floyd's side, his hand, boots, and partially up one leg. He flapped uselessly at the cover for a while as Spencer patted it down trying to smother the places which looked as though flames were about to pop out of Floyd. He at least was successful in doing that. The other thing he was successful in was sticking the cover to Floyd's mucky ribs and part way over his stomach.

'Enough!' He finally managed to shout. 'That's enough.' In a calmer voice. He pulled the water coloured cover around his shoulders and just lay there on the floor.

'What can I get you?' Spencer was hunkered down at Floyd's side with his hands floating over Floyd's body like some sort of magician performing a healing spell. He was too afraid to touch him… much too afraid to move away and leave him.

Floyd opened his eyes and looked up at his Spencer. The whites of his eyes were a deep bloody red… his irises seemed to have gone almost darker than his pupils. The effect was both a huge turn on and frightening at the same time. 'Divide the weapons up between the two of you. Someone keep a watch on the front. Across the street is a store. I don't know if there's anything left in there… seems most of the stores are empty, but someone needs to go and check it out and that someone is going to have to be you. Sam cant go. We need water. Canned goods. Medical supplies… pain killers, but mostly we need water. Get a gun. Cover your skin and make a run for it. Don't even think of walking. The ground will just suck you in.'

Spencer moved back so that he was sitting on his heels. 'You want me to go out there and raid a store? Alone?'

Floyd licked his sore lips and moved a hand out from under cover. He touched Spencer gently on the leg. 'Spence… if I wrap my arms around myself I can feel my ribs though this shit stuck to me. I don't mean the way I can feel yours or Sam's… you understand what I'm saying?' Floyd paused and sighed. 'I can touch the bone. For now I reckon I'm in shock and adrenaline is keeping me from eating my own brains to stop the pain, but it's not going to last forever. You asked if there was something you could do… I'm asking you… get food, water, medical supplies… from that store just over the street. Take a gun or two with you. Shoot anything you see unless it's me or Sam.'

He didn't move. Spencer couldn't move. The numbness which had started with his lips was spreading over his body. Of course this smouldering man on the floor was kidding. He didn't really want him to go out there. He didn't want him to go raid a store in a place which seemed to cook you alive. He couldn't possibly mean that. 'Go out there?' He sighed.

Floyd's spooky eyes narrowed. 'You fucking cowardly cunt.'

'It's not cowardice!' Spencer managed to stand, but he could feel that he was swaying slightly. 'I've never used a gun before. I don't know…'

'Fine!' Floyd scrabbled to his knees. 'Forget I mentioned it. Sam get the fuck out here now.'

A small whimper came from under then bed. 'I'm not going out there! That sort of heat plays havoc with the skin. It'll ruin me forever.'

'Not asking you to. Come and get a gun. Arm your self. I'm going back out there. I really thought that Spencer would do this one thing seeing as I'd just risked my life to keep him safe, but no… obviously not. He'd rather see me go out there and die than just run over the street and get water. I'll go, but I'm already half gone. If I'm like one of those others when I get back I begging you… I'm requesting that you put a bullet between my eyes and then remove my head.'

Sam nodded. 'OK. I can do that.'

Spencer wanted to slap Sam. 'If anyone is going to kill Floyd it will be me.' He snapped childishly at Sam.

'You're great… both of you. Can totally rely on you to kill me but not to get me something for a headache.'

'What's it like out there?' Spencer pointed to the door.

'It's like the The Day of the Dead Living… If you get my drift.'

'Night of the Living Dead?' Sam enquired.

'They're not dead Sam… so no… it's not night either… they are dead men walking. Get it?'

Sam didn't but Spencer thought he did. He nodded at Floyd and moved towards the window. Slowly he pulled a curtain back slightly and then pushed a slat on the blinds down and had a good look at the deserted landscape. 'OK… I'll go. I need something to wrap around myself and cover my head. Sam look after Floyd. Floyd…' Spencer shrugged. '… if there's nothing there I'm not going to go looking elsewhere. I'll come right back. I was thinking though that places like this have water storage. If I cant find anything over there I'll go and look for water in one of the roof access areas, but I'll return here first.'

And so with the other blue and green bed cover wrapped around him and over his head and a gun in the rear waistband of his lovely green cotton pants, Spencer awaited a reprieve. He wanted so desperately to hear Floyd say he was kidding… it was all a joke. It was just another hot summer day outside and there was nothing demonic about anything, but those words didn't come.

Sam was now crouched on the floor next to Floyd. His blue and pink pyjama bottoms were stuck to him with the sweat. He had removed the top and had it tied around his shoulders. Spencer took a long deep breath of hot sticky smelly air and took in the scene. To Spencer it looked like a vulture circling his injured prey. He wanted to tell Sam not to kill Floyd unless he turned into something like a gloopy soup of demonic action, but he really didn't think that Sam had the guts to kill Floyd, even if the man was begging him to. He gave his lips a final licking with a tongue which was too dry and pulled the cover up over his face so that all that showed was a slit in the fabric which he could look out of. It would have to do.

'Don't stand still. Keep moving all the time you're exposed.'

'I will.'

'Shoot anything out there. They should be dead anyway.'

'I understand.' He unlocked the door.

'Remember they're not zombies, Spencer. They're alive. They are in pain and they're afraid. The gun will scare them. I doubt you have to actually hit anything… so don't worry too much about aim if you're running… the noise will make them back off.' He hoped. He really for the love of fuck hoped. In the meantime he'd lay here and scratch his fingernails over his exposed ribs and wonder how quickly it would heal or if everything for him at least, was too far gone… or even if that _was_ bone and not something glued to his skin. It was a thought… maybe why it didn't hurt as much as he thought it should.

'I'll be back.' Spencer placed his hand on the strangely cool door handle.

'I love you.' Floyd whispered, but when Spencer turned around to reply, Floyd was looking at Sam.

Spencer ran. He was angry and more than a little bit pissed off. He ran partly because of what Floyd had said about standing still and partly because it felt as though his skin was sizzling even though he was covered, but mostly it was pure anger… and maybe jealousy. He still wasn't sure what it was he had to be jealous about. The man had assaulted him in the most horrific manner and secretly he wanted to be assaulted like that again. For maybe the first time in his life he had felt alive… alive in the way that someone actually wanted him and he lusted that need to be wanted again.

He skipped over the cracks in the pavement the same way Floyd had, but Spencer was holding up the bed cover from around his feet. The last thing he wanted to do was to trip up and knock himself out. He wasn't a fast runner. He wasn't the most graceful animal who had ever existed, but he still managed not to fall over the curb and he managed not to trip on the uneven, buckling lumps in the road which was looking now like gentle waves of deathly blackness. There was no one around, but like Floyd, he could hear screams, smell smoke, hear the crashes and shattering of glass… and the revving of an engine somewhere.

The parking area outside SuperStores – _All Your Needs in One Place_ – was on a very slight slope. The white lines painted for the parking bays had started to run outwards towards the road as though it had been raining on a freshly painted canvas. The way the large stencilled disabled symbols had run made it look like someone in a wheelchair was moving very fast. Spencer allowed himself to smile at it as he raced by and up towards the double glass doors of the shop. There were no lights on in the shop, but he could still see through the hot gloom that the place was stocked. He could see a black lump splayed over one of the checkouts. He guessed rightly that it was a person. Though why someone would stay doing their job when the world around them was afire he had no idea. He wrapped his hand around some of the bed cover and placed it on the door. He thought that the door should have an automatic opening, but it wasn't going to do anything today. He took a few careful steps back whilst pulling the gun out of the back of his waistband and pointed it at the door. It sent a buzzing thrill through him to think that he was doing something so _naughty_! It was a silly feeling but as he stood there with the pistol raised towards the glass he felt like a bank robber… He smiled as he squeezed the trigger.

The noise was phenomenal.

If there was anything alive anywhere close it would either run the other way, or come quickly… he hoped the former. The boom of the gun coupled with the explosion of the glass giving way hurt Spencer's sensitive ears. He automatically ducked down and covered his head with the hand still holding the gun. He was quite lucky that he didn't shoot his own ear off. A quick glance over his shoulder to see if Floyd or Sam had come out to see what had happened and with a small pang of disappointment he turned again and started to crunch over the shattered glass and into the stinking hot depths of the (hopefully) abandoned shop.

Spencer had been fooled by the darkness into believing that for some reason this place would offer a blast of cold air as he walked in. It didn't. It was just as hot and un-breathable in here as it had been in the motel room or out in the street. Spencer put the safety catch back on the pistol before pushing it down the side of his pants… this time in a place he could grab it quickly if needed. He stood for a while and listened. There was still a slight whining in his ears from the gunshot, but that was all, except maybe a dripping from somewhere. The smell in here was very strange. It had a strong smell of beer, vinegar, rotting meat… He glanced at the dead thing draped over the conveyer of the checkout and moved on quickly. The reason for the smell was soon obvious. As he walked into the darkness he could see broken bottles on the floor. It looked as though they'd exploded from the heat. There was wine, beer, soft drinks, some still sitting broken and leaking on the shelves but mostly they were on the floor laying amongst the sticky drying out remains of the contents. This didn't bode well in Spencer's mind. If the alcohol was all gone, maybe the water was gone too. There was also the problem of how he was going to carry back anything he could find.

First stop was the rear of the shop where it sold bedding and soft furnishings. He grabbed some fancy arsed sheets and tied the corners of a king sized sheet together. He did the same thing with another and then with his makeshift bags he walked towards the pharmacy.

His footsteps echoed as he walked past a row of bottles of shampoo and other hair care products. If there'd still been running water he would have grabbed a random bottle for Sam, but there seemed to be no point. The pharmacy counter had packs of leaking sticky throat sweets and other minor items which had lost all viability… they were hardly recognisable as anything but behind the counter was a shelf of little bottles of things and it was these that Spencer needed. He walked around the edge of the counter and looked down at the bloated fly covered body of something… it was oozing and if it had a smell, Spencer couldn't differentiate between the rotting smells already prevailing. He assumed that the fresh waft of something long cooked was coming from that lightly buzzing thing. He'd not noticed flies anywhere else or even heard any. Maybe they were dying too. For sure the sound they were making sounding low and slightly wrong. He stood looking at the thing for a while longer and swallowing back the bile which was racing upwards, turned his attention to the bottles. He took one item at a time and read what it was… then dropped it into the sheet bag he'd made. It was stupid. Why bother looking. Just take the lot!... With that thought he grabbed things by the handful and shoved them quickly into the bag. The thing on the floor continued to do nothing, but that quiet buzzing was now even quieter. Some dead flies were laying around the lifeless creature and others were moving around, crawling as though drunk. Spencer gave a shudder and quickly moved on.

He found water! He popped a bottle open and took a long drink of the hot water. It burned his tongue and the roof of his mouth but he still drank it. It was liquid and he doubted that a small burn in his mouth was going to be the worst he would get today… or tomorrow. He took approximately twenty large bottles of water. The containers were plastic and some had started to melt and the liquid was seeping out, dripping to the floor and hissing; letting of tiny pools of steam. Feeling revitalised by the water, Spencer moved on, ignoring the chiller cabinets. He knew that there'd be nothing there for him. The canned goods had been partially raided. There was a lot of tinned ham, corned beef, chicken in white sauce and even some chilli which he took and put in the second sheet bag. There were also cans of fruit and vegetables which went the same way as the other things. The contents of the swag was now feeling heavy and he knew that he had to leg it back over that melting road again, carrying it… not safe to drag it. It would have to be slung over his shoulders.

Time to go. He had no idea how long he'd been. There was a clock on the wall, still ticking, but it was going backwards. Not a good sign. Pill bottles rattled. The water bottles sloshed around. The cans clanked together. Spencer stopped dragging them and turned to arrange them so he could carry them.

'Where're _you_ going?' A voice hissed from his side. The things dropped and he spun, trying to get his hand on the gun stuck in the side of his waistband. He fumbled and got caught up in the fabric of the thing he had wrapped around himself. A man stood there. A very blistered burnt man with a hole where one eye had been and a huge scab on the side of his face. He had a club in his hand and a smile on his face. Most of the teeth were missing; Spencer noticed that. The gaps almost seemed to be steaming with yellow gas. He had on some kind of security uniform. A name badge let Spencer know that his name was _B. Eklin._

'My friends.' Spencer said in a panicked squeak as he carried on struggling for the evasive gun.

The man took a wet sounding step towards Spencer. 'Looting? It's my business to stop looters.' He swished the club around on the length of leather which was around his fat red wrist.

'I'll pay for it.' Spencer said. Though he had no intention of doing so. He needed time to get the damned gun out!

'I've dealt with scum like you before. I will again.' And more fancy hand work with the club… more scrabbling for the gun, but the more Spencer tried to get hold of it, the more the fabric twisted around his hand and arm. The man jabbed Spencer in the ribs, hard, with the club. 'I hope that's your wallet you're going for.' That stinking toothless smile came again, just before that club smacked Spencer around the side of the head.

Spencer felt the blinding smack from the club around his head, he moved to the side and next time it came for him he tried to lift an arm to defend himself… again the stupid thing he was wearing prevented him from getting his arm in place in time, but the movement caused the club to come down across Spencer's shoulder. Again he stumbled, tripping this time over the contents of his mighty haul and then standing on the hem of the blue and green bed cover he was on his knees and scrabbling away – fast. He wanted to scream, but either fear or the hot water had closed his throat. He could hardly make a small whimper as again the club struck him, this time on the back of his head. 'Please stop.' But Spencer's words were muffled and not much more than a childish whisper. He needed to get to his feet. He needed to discard the robe thing and he needed to shoot this before it mashed his brains out.

A crack, this time on his spine. 'Stop wriggling. Die like a man.' The voice growled at him. And now a kick to his ribs. Spencer let out a long groaning moan as the force of the kick flipped him onto his side. He could feel the gun digging into his side, but still couldn't get to it. What a fool he'd been. What a stupid fool. He should have had that weapon where he could get hold of it quickly. What had made him think that nothing would come for him? Hadn't Floyd warned him? As the man loomed over Spencer he tried to kick out. He only succeeded in giving the man a foot to grab and he did and he began to drag Spencer away from his haul of goodies. 'I'll show you what happens to little shits like you.'

He wriggled and struggled… grabbed onto the edge of the shelving to stop himself from simply being dragged away for some monster to eat him… because Spencer was sure that's what was going to happen. He kicked out with his other foot… pushing the man back away from him as the almost dead man let go of Spencer's foot. He moved up and onto his knees and finally managed to get to his feet. The robe was beginning to fall away from him now and the gun scrabbling started again just as the guard moved in and struck Spencer hard enough to send him flying back into a load of bottles of sauces and condiments. His head cracked on the shelf. His nose gushed with blood. The shop began to spin crazily as a loud humming whine screamed in his ears, but the force of the impact had given Spencer hope. He could feel the butt of the gun under his fingers and as the man came for him again Spencer pulled it out of hiding and pointed it at him. 'I told you to stop!' This time his voice worked. This time he screamed it at the man. 'I'll shoot you!' Spencer was shaking so much that he didn't think he'd be able to shoot the side of a barn, but the threat was there and the man was looking at Spencer with curiosity.

'You'd not shoot an unarmed man.' He dropped the club. 'I'm sick. You'd not shoot a half blind sick old man.'

'Try me. Take a step closer and I'll take your head off.'

B. Elkin shook his shiny sore head. 'You've not got it in you. That other one, now he would have, but not you. No… you're going to come with me and…'

The shot was like the others… a deafening crash. It missed.

The man smirked and shook his head. 'I'm not scared of you, boy.'

The next shot caught Elkin above his right eye which was already missing. He stood there looking at Spencer with his good eye and slowly, like some creepy slow motion a flap of skin slithered down Elkin's face from where the bullet had entered… it slipped and carried on slipping. Spencer could hear the skin giving and ripping, but Elkin just stood there looking at him. Not in shock or pain… just looking at him; maybe begging him to finish it. Spencer fired once more and this time the top of Elkin's head disappeared in a fountain of red and tiny bits of shattered bone and brain. His knees gave way and he sank to the floor almost as though his bones had melted. That face still looked at Spencer though, that one eye staring at him. 'I'm sorry.' Spencer muttered… though sorry about what? He wasn't sure. The situation probably.

This time Spencer sat the gun on a shelf as he got this things ready again, covered his body with the bed cover, wiped blood off his face and felt carefully along his ribs. He didn't think any were broken, but it was a close call. Another kick like that and they probably would have been broken. He swung the things over his back, holding onto the knotted corners of both bags of stuff with one hand. In the other hand he held the gun.

Spencer left the store quickly… still dripping blood from his nose… his throat swollen, his mind going crazy, because none of this could be real. He just couldn't believe that he'd shot someone. He hated guns. He _hated_ them… he just didn't quite remember why.

o-o-o

Floyd managed to get to his knees. His hands resting on the floor. He and Sam looked over at the door when they heard gunshots.

'Shit. Go and check on him. Get a gun and help him out.'

Sam gave Floyd a narrow eyed look. 'Go out there?' He said in disbelief. 'You're kidding me right?'

'Just give him some back up. Take a gun… go!'

'No! I'm not going out there! Are you bonkers? He'll be fine. You'll see.' Sam walked over to the window and had a peep through the gap. He couldn't see anything though. 'I'm not stepping outside in my pyjamas.' He was quite firm on that fact. No way in hell was he going to be seen in public in blue and pink pyjamas.


	9. Chapter 9

9

Floyd loved Sam to his very core, but right now he had heard enough from the whining selfish little shit. With a groan, Floyd pulled the gun sitting in the holster by his leg and waved it Sam's direction and gave a dry cough to let Sam know that he wanted him to turn and look. Floyd expected Sam to fall to his knees and beg forgiveness. He thought Sam would grab something and leg it out of the door, but Sam just sniffed, dropped the curtain back into place and walked over to Floyd.

It wasn't what Floyd expected. Nothing was panning out like he'd expected. Why couldn't one person's hell be the same as the next. This chaos was doing Floyd's head in. There was a second there just before the gun bucked and boomed in his hand that he thought Sam was going to make a grab at it, but it was a kick he tried. Why he tried to do something so stupid, Floyd didn't know… Sam though didn't think it so foolish - as Floyd would never wave a loaded gun at him like that, or maybe loaded but he'd have the safety catch on. Floyd heard behind the ringing in his ears, Sam's screaming. That in it self was good. He'd at least not taken his head off. Floyd dropped the pistol and looked in the direction all the noise was coming from. 'Sam?' He muttered at the curled up form in the corner of the room.

The screams turned to words… 'You fuck! You cunting fuck! You fucking shot me!' … the words turned to moans and Sam slipped over onto his side making horrible gagging noises.

And to top the excitement off there was now more gunfire going on outside. Had the nice stable situation, the one Floyd felt he had some kind of control over just slipped into the final stages of mind melting bedlam? He thought so. 'Sam… I didn't…' He didn't mean to. Really he didn't mean to do that. If he'd wanted to hurt Sam he'd have chosen a much more personal method, except for the fact that he was himself in blinding agony and could hardly move. 'Sam!' But the gurgling noises just carried on. Floyd now turned his attention to the noise going on outside. He'd heard five shots since his own. Either a freaky mother of an echo or Spencer was going bonkers out there in the sun.

o-o-o

Spencer wasn't finding carrying all the things over his shoulder and holding on with just the one hand all that easy. Water bottles are surprisingly heavy - as are cans of food. His balance was badly compromised and that was without the cover he had wrapped around himself constantly slipping and either snagging his toes or falling over his face. He couldn't run, as much as he'd love to, but he could manage a nice fast walk. He was finding breathing difficult through his bloodied nose and his throat was painful. He would maybe have put it all down to the caustic air he was breathing but some of the damage to his mouth and throat had stupidly been self inflicted in his hurry to hydrate himself.

Gunfire? Was that what he heard? Coming from the motel room? Spencer moved quickly forwards with his eyes locked on the motel room door.

He tripped on the curb… his left foot caught the edge and his ankle gave way. He was sure that it was totally his imagination, but did he just hear bones in his foot snapping? Spencer didn't doubt it. The pain was enough not to have any doubt over that thought. His automatic reaction to it was to go down on one knee and take the weight off his foot. He had just felt his knee begin to sink into the sticky road when someone called out to him.

'Hey! Help me!' He turned, this time with the gun up and ready. What he saw was pure revulsion. He blinked at the blob, which might have once been a person. It slimed over the ground, a blistering oozing pink lump with a face of a young woman. Small tufts of blond hair stuck up on the top of the head. It had large swollen breast and Spencer was sure even from this distance that she had nipple rings. There was a nose, a mouth, two eyes… at least there were holes in the face of the thing which was calling out for Spencer to help as it slimed towards him leaving a hissing trail of fluids behind it.

'What do you want?' Spencer thought he'd whispered this, but she seemed to have heard him. 'I can't help you.' He added.

The thing made a small whining sad noise. 'Where am I? What is this place?'

Spencer flicked off the safety and pointed the weapon at her. The gun boomed, but he hit her somewhere in the head. He thought he'd get the same result as the man in the store, but that didn't quite happen… it wasn't just her head that exploded, but the whole of her. She made a sigh and a pop like a water balloon and she turned from being something which might have had a face to an empty bag of slowly cooking flesh… the contents of the bag were spreading out in a sizzling puddle.

'What did you do that for?' Another voice. This time Spencer didn't wait. He just turned and opened fire. Whatever it was who had spoken to him fell face first into the road and slowly began to either be eaten by the road of just sink away out of sight. It was enough for Spencer to forget his pain, get back to his feet and find enough balance and strength to run. He fired a few more times in random directions just to keep back anything which might be there. He needed to get back to the motel room. He was sure that's where the gunshot had rung from and he was also sure that he had heard screaming for a short while. Not good. He didn't want to walk into a gun battle and didn't want to stay out here either. He would quite like to return the hero, but that was likely a slim chance. Actually he'd quite like to return to the time before the nightmares, when life might have been a drag but it was _his_ life. He couldn't see that happening yet though, not unless that was a magical door he was heading for and behind it was a whole load of wishful thinking.

He hammered on the door with the gun barrel and thought he heard some muttered words behind it. No one rushing to open the door for him and a sudden raging jealousy rushed through him making his hands and feet tingle. He imagined Floyd and Sam… Sam and Floyd… the thought that Floyd only sent him out so he could have time alone with Sam buzzed through his head forcing him to clench his jaw and images flooded his mind. He was not sure if it was Floyd he felt this horrible jealousy for or Sam… he thought maybe it was both. 'Open the door!' He shouted and hammed with the gun again.

'It's not locked.'

He was sure that's what was said and he was sure that was Floyd's voice. Spencer slipped the gun somewhere safe and pushed the door open. He would have loved a cool freshness to have hit him, but the air was as terrible in the room as it was outside. He dropped the sheet bags to the floor, closed the door behind him and slipped the lock. Now he looked properly at what was going on.

'You're bleeding?' Floyd was half kneeling and half laying on the floor, but those spooky red and black eyes were looking carefully at him. 'I heard gunshots.'

Spencer nodded slightly. 'I did too. From here?' And now he could hear the odd noises coming from Sam. 'Sam? What happened to Sam?'

'Now before you go off on one and accuse me of attempted murder, I didn't purposefully shoot him. He had a funny turn and tried to get my gun… it sort of went off.'

'You shot him? You shot Sam? Where?'

'No idea, but I'm so very sure that you're going to ignore my personal agony and go running to Sammy-boy, cos I sure know where your fucking loyalties lay. Not with me huh? Nope. You got painkillers? Water?'

Spencer tipped out some of the contents of the bags. 'I got what I could. Is he going to be OK? Where was he shot?'

'I need you to help me onto the bed and then start to get some of this stuff off me. I do believe that it's beginning to sort of harden.'

Floyd gave Spencer a hard unblinking look. Who was he going to assist? Spencer picked up a bottle of water, found some painkillers and passed them both to Floyd. 'The water is quite warm. Be careful. Don't take too many of those pills. I don't want you ending up overdosing on them. I don't think that the local A and E is going to be open.'

Floyd glanced at the pill bottle and the water and then looked at Spencer. The lovely oh so fuckable Spencer who was not doing what he had told him to do. Spencer was walking away and hunkering down in front of Sam. Floyd was going to tear him apart as soon as his own skin had grown back properly again. He was going to get hold of Spencer and cause him so much pain that Spencer would wonder why he thought he'd ever complained about pain in the past. He was going to hurt that damned pretty face so bad that no one else would ever want him… which reminded him suddenly of something and as he twisted the lid off the water bottle he looked over at Sam who was being pulled up to sit as Spencer made _there there there_ noises, like Sam was some fucking kid or a dog and not a flaming faggot demon.

Spencer could see right away that Sam had been hit in the upper left arm and though Sam cried and wriggled Spencer could see that slightly smug look on Sam's face. The wound was a through and through which would happily save digging a bullet out with a handy penknife but it was still a very nasty wound.

'He tried to kill me.' Sam whimpered and somehow managed to curl his legs around Spencer's middle. 'Don't let him hurt me.'

Reid looked over his shoulder at Floyd who was glaring back. 'You would be dead if that's what he meant to do.' Spencer reassured Sam. 'I'll wash and dress it and there's some pills you can take.'

'Laxatives.' Floyd called over. 'He loves them and you seem to have a nice supply of them here. So now you know he's not dying will you assist me here?'

But Spencer seemed to be stuck in place. Sam's legs held him with a strength Spencer didn't think possible. 'You need to let go of me.' Spencer was still trying to use his kind and understanding voice, but it was becoming harder… and the way Sam seemed to be sliding forwards… 'Stop it Sam!'

'Please… please fuck me! I'm dying! You'd not reject a dying man would you?'

That was all that was needed. Spencer pushed Sam back and got to his feet. 'This is… what?...' He had a head full of screaming words and some of them were telling Spencer to kick Sam in the face… one was telling him to hold him tight and comfort him and yet another was howling at him to get naked and do it like they do on the nature shows on television. It made him feel revolted, scared… ashamed… confused… and light headed and hot. 'Get… just stay away from me.' Spencer took three quick steps backwards. 'You're just a kid!'

'Fuck yeah! And we all love porking the kids.' Floyd snapped from just behind him as though he'd heard all of Spencer's thoughts.

'That's just the point isn't it? I don't want him crawling all over me.'

Floyd gestured a tired hand over to Spencer who knelt down next to Floyd and let out a long sigh. 'But you do like it. You're all flushed and ready for action, so if that snivelling thing hiding in the corner is just a kid then you're as sick as me. Now help me onto the bed and get me sorted.'

Spencer spent the next few hours picking bits off of Floyd's side. Some of the small stones had torn into the skin and would need tweezers to get hold of them and pull them out and that was bad enough, what really made Spencer feel sick to his stomach was the way Floyd's skin had blistered under the hot mess which had adhered to him. As he pulled away bits of road – some of it almost half an inch thick – layers of Floyd's skin was peeling back with it. He should have been in hospital. The burns were deep and would most likely become quickly infected in this heat. Spencer thought of the flies buzzing their lazy dance around the dead woman behind the pharmacy counter. At least there didn't seem to be much of that, but it still made Spencer want to cry with frustration.

'I think what we need to do is go to a hospital and before you argue with me, I know there'll be no doctors there, but we need proper dressings and medication or your flesh is going to rot right off you.' Now Spencer thought of the blob woman and shuddered. 'You remember where the hospital is?' He asked Floyd who was laying on his side shivering. 'I think you already have a fever. We need to get you somewhere better than this place. Somewhere secure and safe.'

Floyd placed a hand on Spencer's arm. 'Just get me some water and some more of those pain pills and I'll be great. This will heal up quickly. You'll see. You'll be shocked and stunned at the speed I will heal.'

'And if I'm not shocked and stunned by it, will you let me try to get you somewhere so we can get antibiotics?'

'When I start having seizures.' Floyd muttered. 'Carry on cleaning it… and a smoke would be great.'

Sam spent his time alone and miserable. He wanted attention and the more noise he made and whimpering and crying the less attention he got. Spencer even went as far as sitting so his back was to him. He ended up washing the wound himself and wrapping some bits of ripped up pillowcase around his arm and them making a sling. He also took time now to rummage around in Floyd's bags he'd brought back.

'Oh my fucking god!' That was a scream of delight from Sam. 'You got my fucking gunbelts, you old tart!' There were two of them which seemed to be linked somehow at the back. He slipped them on and let them drop to below his hip at the front. 'Oh my god.' He sighed again. Spencer had turned to look at Sam and Floyd had a small indulgent smile on his face.

'Like a kid opening his Christmas gifts.' Floyd muttered to Spencer. 'You're right… at his core he's still a kid. That's not going to stop me from doing what I have to do though… because it's not his core I want to screw.'

Spencer looked at Sam who was standing with a revolver in each hand, holstering, drawing… holstering… drawing… pointing… 'They're not loaded.' Sam snarled at Spencer who was beginning to look concerned. 'I'd not point a loaded gun at a _friend_.' He did though stop his game when he saw that his companions were not amused or interested and sat back down again. It occurred to Spencer that the pain in Sam's arm seemed to have been forgotten and he hoped that Floyd's wincing and painful noises would stop soon too.

Sam slept in the empty bathtub. He said that it was cooler in there now that it was getting dark. Neither of the other two felt like arguing with him. Spencer had used a lot of water wetting a couple of bath towels and wrapping them around Floyd's wounds. He had no idea if that was the right thing to do, but it seemed to be better than just leaving the bleeding, burnt, torn flesh exposed. Once Sam was sleeping (they could hear his small snoring sounds), Spencer lay on the bed next to Floyd and stared at the ceiling. 'I need you to promise me something.' Spencer suddenly whispered over the side of Floyd's face. Floyd opened his creepy eyes and looked at Spencer, but said nothing. 'I've seen what those things out there look like. I've seen it and so have you. I don't want to end up like that. I don't want to be…'

'It's OK.' Floyd muttered.

'It's _not_ OK. You've seen first hand what we will end up like. If I start to turn into one of those things, I need you to kill me.'

Floyd blinked and that small muscle at the edge of his eye twitched. 'Can't promise such.' He said as a sigh. 'I can't.'

'You want me to beg you? You want me on my knees?'

'Oh always, but not for that reason. Spencer – I've been thinking a lot about this situation. It started off like a normal week. Everything seemed so fucking boring and average. This has happened much too fast, which is why I believe that we've been enchanted all this time. Nothing which happened is real. You're probably still in The Bastion, Sam's probably still tied up on that wall and I'm kneeling in the dirt in some Captains fucking tent. There is just one thing which is bothering me about that idea… Sam. Well not Sam… but his eye. He had his eye ripped out. Remember?' Spencer nodded. 'And it's there and working fine now, but even before it was torn from his skull it didn't work. It looked at his nose most of the time, the pupil always fully dilated, but not really too noticeable as his eyes are so dark, but he has two fully functioning eyes. There's something not right about that. I'm not sure if it's still the enchantment working its magic or if it's something else.'

'Wait… what? That was just a nightmare. That wasn't real. This is real and that's why his eye is OK.'

Floyd wanted to get up and shake Spencer but he felt too sick and his head was pounding. 'No – Spencer, his eye has been fucked for years. That's not a new thing. Back in the time when we were – lovers, you and I, back then…'

Spencer shook his head. 'I've never been your lover. It's not possible. I'm not gay. I'd not have had a man as a lover.'

'Firstly, you are gay. Secondly you love it. Thirdly, why are you so damned ashamed of it? It's natural. You don't have to hide your sexuality around me. I'm a devout arse bandit. It's really rather fantastic and point four – they are not nightmares, they are memories. I thought we'd been over this already. Really babes, it breaks my heart hearing you speak like that. All those wonderful nights… all that fantastic stuff, the great experiences we've shared; vacations in forest cabins, at the coast... I've loved you and cared for you since you were a child. Please try to stuff that shitty life you thought you had away and remember the real one. The one with me.'

'I don't have just _memories_ of wild sex and fun. They are horrific, painful, terrifying. Is that all real too? All that death and all that pain and anger and confusion?'

'Every last pinch. But the sex far outweighs the nasty stuff. You'd not have stayed with me for so long had it not. Do you remember when you were about thirteen and again mother was in hospital. It was the second time in as many months and you were due to be packed off to a kids home again. You did your usual stunt and ran away. You were down some side street not far from home and the cops were out looking for you. But I picked you up and took you to the caves and we stayed there for two weeks! That was glorious.'

'There were monsters in those caves. I was terrified.'

Floyd's mouth twitched slightly. 'Tiny monsters. Nothing to be worried about. I kept you safe didn't I? I held you tight in the night and I fucking rocked you as you cried.'

'I wanted to go home.'

'But I kept you safe.'

'You held me prisoner. You tied me up. You…'

Floyd shook his head. 'I didn't do anything wrong.'

'You…'

'Nothing you didn't want to do.' Floyd smiled slightly at the sweet memory. 'Spencer I didn't do anything wrong. I didn't touch you.'

'I remember your mouth on my ear. I remember your hands resting on my chest.'

Floyd closed his eyes and sighed. 'Do you think that really happened? Did I really abduct you and hide you away in the caves for two weeks? Did I run my tongue over your tummy as you slept and twitched in your sleep?'

'I wasn't asleep… and yes it happened!'

Floyd now smiled. 'Good. Finally we are getting somewhere. How the hell could that have happened if I didn't know you? Explain that to me genius.'

Sam lay in the tub with his eyes open listening to the whispered chatter from the next room. He heard Floyd's words and Spencer's replies. He heard Spencer again asking Floyd to kill him if he started to turn into one of the monsters. 'They're like they are melting on the inside. I don't want to end up like that. The agonies they must be in.' He heard Floyd tell Spencer that he would, if it came to it, put him out of his misery… and tell him that it wouldn't happen.

'It wont get that far.' Then the horror of hearing Floyd tell Spencer that he promised… 'I will take us all out. I'll not let it happen.'

Then the talk dipped to quiet mumbling which he couldn't make out. He was tempted to get out of the tub and get closer to hear what was going on. He felt lonely and excluded. He had been pushed aside. Sam curled up on his side and had a small cry. Nothing which would alert the two traitors that he had heard anything. He thought Spencer was his. He thought Spencer would do anything for him. And now this crap? He run his fingers over his gunbelt, but even that didn't bring him the happiness it had done… and now…

…those noises. He knew what they were! Oh yes. No disguising _that_ sound. Floyd might be hurt and in pain but it didn't stop him from taking Spencer away from him and sealing a damned deal which would result in Floyd shooting their brains out.

Each of them sliding in and out of their own personal hells.

Sam would run away before he let Floyd kill him. He would take his good eyes and he'd leg it. He'd find someone… because this was surely part of hell. And therefore out there somewhere was someone Sam could make a deal with. Not tonight though. Tonight he'd stay in his tub and listen to those two bonding.


	10. Chapter 10

10

Spencer fell asleep in the hot dry grasp of Floyd. He didn't think that sleep would have been possible but there was something so wonderfully soothing about feeling Floyd's breath on the back of his neck. He felt completely safe. Nothing could hurt him all the time he was here with Floyd. Sleep brought dreams and nightmares though. It wasn't a relaxing sleep and was probably more exhausting than if he'd tried to stay awake.

At first when he awoke he kept his eyes closed and took in a few panicked breaths which were the left overs of his last dream. He could feel that Floyd was still tight against him and he could still feel the breath on the back of his neck, but it had changed. It was hard and deep and there seemed to be huge gaps between breathing in and then out again. He could also feel that Floyd was shuddering slightly. He was still safe though. He'd been right to trust Floyd. He slowly opened his eyes and wiped away the dreams with his fingertips. Sam was sitting on the other bed looking at him with an expression which was bordering on hate… no actually it was hate… no bordering there at all. Spencer gently moved Floyd's arms away from himself and pulling his clothing back into place sat up giving Sam a hundred questions with just one look.

'He's not sleeping.' Sam told Spencer. 'Floyd doesn't really need to sleep. He's gone into hibernation and will probably be there for a while.'

Spencer turned to look at Floyd who had his eyes only half closed. 'He's healing.' Spencer turned back to Sam. 'How is your arm?'

'How is my arm? You suddenly care about my arm? You didn't seem all that bothered yesterday when it was pumping my blood out all over the carpet. No. You left me to deal with it and fussed around Floyd. You're fucking unbelievable. How long have we been together? How long have we been trying to work out what's going on? I thought we had an understanding. I thought we were friends. As soon as he arrived back on the scene you turn away from me again. And I heard you last night. I wasn't asleep. I was in the bathroom alone listening to you two and your sweet pillow talk. Thanks for that. Thanks for every bloody thing.'

Spencer didn't want to listen to this rubbish, but the way Sam had spoken revealed something to Spencer which he didn't think Sam had realised. Spencer had a very good idea that Sam knew exactly what was going on and just chose either to ignore it or keep it to himself for some other reason. There seemed to be no point in talking to him while Sam was in such a dark mood. He moved into the small kitchen area and had a few hotdogs from a can and then supped down on some warm water and spent the rest of the day sorting through the pill bottles to see what he'd actually picked up. He could feel Sam watching him from where he was sitting huddled in a corner with his arms wrapped around his shins and his chin resting on his knees. It wasn't until the day began to darken again that Spencer spoke to him.

'Let me check your wound and clean it up.' Spencer walked over to Sam with a bottle of water and a pot of pills. He'd torn up some more of the bedding to make some bandages.

Sam didn't protest. He let Spencer undo the covering he'd tied around it and wash it carefully. 'What's going on?' Sam muttered as he watched Spencer dabbing at his arm.

'You tell me.' Spencer replied. 'I have a strong feeling that you know full well what's going on.'

The tired look left Sam's face and was replaced by the spiteful pointed expression he used so much. 'How should I know? All I know is that somehow Floyd arrived in our lives and the world fell apart.'

With the wound, which was healing very fast, cleaned and a new dressing placed over it, Spencer sat on the floor in front of Sam. 'I'm not as good as Floyd is at spotting a lie, but when you make it so obvious it makes it hard to ignore. You said that Floyd came back and I turned away from you again – how can that be if you'd never met him before? How can that be? Explain.'

Sam resumed his hunched up protective posture and for a long while Spencer thought he'd not reply, but with a long sobbing breath Sam slowly started to talk. 'I remember him. I remember everything, but at first I didn't. It was gradual. That life I had… being sold to some random family and then them dying, it never happened. None of it. The more I look at it the more unreal it becomes and the more real the dreams become. They're becoming the reality and the other stuff has become the nightmare. This is the nightmare. This is also the real shit. Except… I dunno… if our lives were not real then this isn't real either, so where the hell are we? We're sure as fuck not in some town or city over run with bloated red zombie things. That's not real… not even in hell is that real. It's something that's been taken and implanted in our minds.'

Spencer reached out and grabbed a pack of cigarettes. Disgusting habit but does it matter if you're already dead? It sure as damnit can't kill you! And it calmed. Let him think. He lit up with a match and held the pack out for Sam. 'So if we are not here and we are not where we were before here… Where are we?'

Sam now lit up and took in long deep breaths. 'In The Bastion still, I'd guess. Held prisoner and being forced to live out some fucked up life to show us and them what we really are. Who we really are. Spencer, I never had a fucking childhood as such. I wasn't much younger than I am now when I came into existence. The whole selling me to someone who wanted a kid crap… well it's crap. It never happened. So if it never happened then that whole life never happened and the former one did happen… and I know that in that reality I died. Floyd died. You died. We are dead.'

'In The Bastion? They wanted us to forget Floyd.'

'And we did. But his pull on us is so fucking great that his personal charm overwhelmed their enchantments and now it's all falling apart. This was a normal world before things started to drift. Can you see that? It's fucked. We are fucked. What I don't understand is how Floyd encroached into an illusion set by someone who wanted us to forget him.'

'Through the dreams and nightmares. Maybe they wanted us to see the horror? They underestimated Floyd.' Sam grumbled.

'Fuck… You know what? Everyone underestimates Floyd. You bloody well do. You know that you made him promise he'd kill you if you started to turn into a monster? Well he will. No amount of begging him not to will make the slightest odds cos you sealed the deal. He's not a demon, but he's sure a fuck in a forest something and he will make a binding deal and not allow you out of it. Now that raises a question as to how he got out of his promise not to carry guns.'

'He assumed it was no longer a binding agreement, as we no longer knew who he was.' Spencer said. 'We broke the bond.'

'And we need to know, if we are at The Bastion, where is Floyd?'

Spencer looked mildly puzzled for a moment. 'We saw him being turned. We saw him leave. They forced him back.'

Sam raised an eyebrow as he spoke. 'Really? That's what they want us to have seen. That's what would have been ideal, but how the hell do we know if that really happened? Floyd thinks he's back with the Captain and trapped, but he could be any fucking where. Just because he thinks that's where he is, doesn't mean that's actually where he is. I've a feeling we are all in The Bastion. All living out another life and they're seeing how well we do… like fucking lab rats. We're probably being force fed Hallucinogens and all sorts of shit and we'd not know. How would we know? If we are imagining everything, how will we ever figure out what's real and what's not? Are we really talking to each other even? Am I in a prison cell somewhere talking to myself?'

'We have to discuss this with Floyd.'

'Why? So he can say it was all his idea in the first place? So he can lap up the praise you'll give him, because you'll forget it was me who suggested it. You really make me sick sometimes. I thought you liked me.'

Where this sudden change had come from, Spencer didn't know. Sam's weird mood swings seemed to be getting worse. It seemed that his intelligence would just suddenly plummet and be gone and it was replaced by a surly unreasonable child. Spencer had almost been fooled into thinking he was talking to an adult for a while! Actually not almost… he'd been totally duped! 'I do like you! Why do you think I don't! I've said over and over again that I will protect you and look out for you. Why do you keep pushing me away?'

Sam said nothing, but stretched out his legs and looked over at the empty bed. He walked over and carefully laid down. He closed his eyes, but like when he was in the tub the previous night, he didn't sleep. He lay there looking into Floyd's half open eyes trying to delve down and see what was going on in that bossy, possessive, greedy, violent mind… It was almost looking into a mirror of his own mind. Sam rolled over and turned his back.

Spencer spent the night again curled up with Floyd. He'd checked up on him during the day and cleaned the damaged skin, but already it seemed to be looking healthier and as Sam kept pointing out, it had nothing to do with Spencer's careful treatment. Spencer had a nightmare, which wasn't all that unusual. He had one most nights… always painful and always he woke up bathed in sweat and shaking. This one was different though. It wasn't the usual being chased through a forest by something dark and evil sort of nightmare… this was a situation he's never dreamed before but yet it felt slightly familiar. Not quite a memory… not that familiar… but there was something awful and horribly real about it.

He was strung up by his wrists. His toes were just touching the floor. He could feel it cold and damp as he wriggled his toes. He could look down and see how thin he was… almost emaciated. His skin looked an odd mottled yellowish colour. In the dream he tried to look upwards and see what his hands were attached to, but he couldn't do that. His head wouldn't move back. The room though was small and dark. There was a door in front of him with a small barred window… long and narrow, but very high. As far as Spencer could see there were no windows. He tried to scream, but no sound came out of his mouth. He tried to pull his hands down from where they were held and couldn't, but there was a rattling sound as though he was held in chains rather than rope. Again he tried to call out and this time a small whimper escaped his lips. The dream, or nightmare seemed to go on for hours. His shoulders were numb and his chest was heaving with panicked breaths. When the door opened and someone tall in a green and yellow coat walked in he started muttering… 'No, no, no… please no.'

At this point Spencer attempted to wake himself up… when that didn't work he tried to take control of the dream and make the person go away. The man held a long rubbery looking tube and a bottle… he also wore a sad smile.

Then the scene jumped forwards… Spencer's mouth was being forced open and the rubbery tube was passed down this throat… down and down and further down… He was choking and gagging and swinging his head from side to side trying to stop what was happening. The contents of the bottle were poured down the tube. He could feel it, cold like ice hitting his stomach and making him want to be sick, but he knew that he couldn't. He just couldn't afford to puke. He needed nourishment. This was the only way it was offered. In his dream he knew that.

Again it skipped forwards. Someone else was there now. The tube was gone. There was something slimy crawling over Spencer's bottom lip and over his chin, dripping down onto his chest. It wasn't there for long. He was hosed down with water, someone swept out the cell and the door was closed.

For a while the dream allowed Spencer to cry.

And then he slipped out and away and into a cold dark place… somewhere his mind would take him to relieve him from horror and pain.

When he woke up the dream was already fading. His throat hurt, but it had done since he'd drunk the water. At least he thought that's when it first stared hurting. His face was wet with tears and Sam was kneeling on the floor with his nose about an inch from Spencer's.

'Wow… that was one hell of a bad dream you just had. I was about to wake you. You actually puked in your sleep! I've never seen anyone do that before… oh and sorry mate, but you pissed yourself too. But wow.'

Spencer swallowed back something which tasted vile. He looked carefully at Sam, but for now didn't speak. He gestured at Sam for a drink and the dog scuttled away and got what was wanted. When Sam returned Spencer was sitting with his arms folded over his chest and his hands massaging his own shoulders. 'Sam.' Spencer spoke in painful voice. His stomach hurt as though it had been filled with concrete. 'Look.' He held out both hands to Sam, palm up firstly and then he turned his hands over.

'What did you do?' Sam gently touched the deep black bruises and cuts on Spencer's wrists.

'Nothing. They happened in my dream.'

Sam stood. He knocked over the water bottle, spilling it into a warm puddle on the grubby carpet. 'We've got to get out of here Spence. We've got to find that hospital. I don't think there's going to be anything much to find there, but I can't think what else to do and we can't stay here. I tried waking Floyd up when you were sleeping. I wanted a cuddle. I couldn't get him to respond. I don't know… I really don't know. Maybe he's not hibernating… Maybe he's just plain old dying. But he's healing so he's not dead yet. But we've got to wake him somehow!'

'You were right. We're not here. We're in The Bastion still.'

'And they don't want us to have Floyd.' Sam was very sure of that.

'They are going to be disappointed then. The beds are on wooden frames. We can pull them apart and make a travois and drag him out of here. I don't see why we have to sit around waiting to die. We have to do something. Show our loyalty to him. Show our love for each other. Prove that even though the bonding has gone that we are still as we were. Can you do that Sam?'

Sam thought about it. He didn't think so. No… he really didn't think that was going to work. He wanted Floyd. He wanted to curl up with him and be cuddled. He wanted to be the one Floyd looked out for. He wanted to be top dog for once. But Spencer was trying to take control again. Well let him. Let him be the one to make the fucking travois… let him be the one to be the damned hero… When Floyd was awake again then Sam would get what he wanted.

Even if it meant disposing of Spencer first…

But he sort of liked Spencer.

But he hated him too.

Sam wished he could make his fucking mind up!


	11. Chapter 11

11

They both attempted to wake Floyd but there was just no reaction from him. Had those weirdly slow breaths not made his shoulders rise and fall occasionally they would have thought him dead. Spencer pushed him onto his back, rested his head on Floyd's chest and listened to the silence; then one faint _b'dum_… and back to silence. It was very much like Floyd was during hibernation, except usually Spencer could wake him and bring him back… and then there were those spooky half open eyes. Spencer tried to close them, but they just sprung back open again and he dismissed Sam's suggestion to put tape there.

'Maybe he's looking at something somewhere.' Spencer muttered mostly to himself.

Sam prodded Floyd's arm and gave Spencer a weary look. 'I'm going to assume that he's at The Bastion with us. In that case what are they doing to him and why can't he wake up?'

'Is this a visual extension of The Bastion? Is it like an assault course? Training ground? Because if it's not, if this is just in our minds then the reason Floyd wont wake up is probably because he wasn't meant to be here in the first place.'

'They cut communication. Great. That's fucking wonderful. What do we do then? How do we get him back to us?' Sam stood up and got a drink and a smoke. He sat for a while watching Spencer _once a-fucking-gain_ clean the wound on Floyd's side. 'They wanted us to survive without him. And we are going to have to do it again. I say we leave Floyd here. Forget the fucking travois and try to get out of the town. Just the two of us… things might settle again once we are away from him.'

'Out of town? And what do you expect to find there, Sam? A river with fish? A forest? Something that doesn't feel as though we are breathing in fire?' He watched Sam rub at his neck… massaging it. 'Do you have a sore throat?' Spencer was again sitting on the bed next to Floyd.

Sam didn't. Not as such. I felt swollen. It felt as though his tonsils were inflamed, but it didn't hurt as such… He'd felt this sort of feeling before after Floyd had been choking him. It felt as though someone had their hands around his neck. 'No… not a sore throat. Do you?'

Spencer gave a small nod and continued to watch Sam. The way he was digging his fingers into the front of his neck reminded Spencer of the times he'd woken up with bruises on his neck and the feeling like something inside his throat was broken, swollen… The results of being choked. As Sam moved his hands away from his neck Spencer could clearly see the heavy bruises there, only it wasn't fingertips marks he could see, it looked more like Sam had been choked with a bit of rope. 'Reality is encroaching on our imagination.' Spencer muttered as he started to rub at his own painful wrists. The enchantment is breaking down. I had a vision when I was sleeping…'

'They're called dreams… not visions. Even I know that, and as you well know I don't know fuck. I'm just Floyd's cunt-boy and right now Floyd's out of action so I'm not even that… but go on. Tell me about your dream.'

And so he gave Sam every detail he could remember, but there was not much there now, just residual feelings more than anything, but he did remember something being slid down his throat.

'That's not a vision – arsewipe. That's either your over active imagination or it was real. Either way doesn't matter. Are we going to stay here and rot or are we going to go to the hospital. If I remember rightly and if everything is laid out the same, it's two blocks down and then one across, then over the plaza thing with the fountain. We can do that. Floyd managed to get back with the guns on his own, so we can get to the damned hospital… though why there?'

'Because it's better than sitting here doing nothing. And we might be able to get something easier to move Floyd around in.' Spencer looked at the curl on Sam's lip. 'And morphine.' And immediately that look on Sam's face was gone and replaced by one of greed.

'Fine. We can put Floyd on a drip of saline or something. Think that might help him?' Sammy asked.

'No. Actually I don't. I think we need to show our love and loyalty. That's what's going to help him. Keep him in mind. Remember him.'

'You're talking like he's dead.' Sam gave Floyd another prod. 'When I say _dead_ I actually mean… like destroyed. Like you're saying he'll never wake and we'll never have that hot greedy cock again.'

Which was exactly what Spencer was fearing. He couldn't live a life without this man. He didn't care what people said. They didn't understand, they couldn't even begin to understand it! Floyd kept Spencer safe. He guided him. Encouraged him. Yes he hurt him, beat him, controlled him, but now Spencer could see the reasons for that. He needed someone to control him. He needed someone to show him when he was veering off course. He needed Floyd. It was as though they were part of the same person. One couldn't survive without the other. Or maybe it was more like a disease? Kill the host and the disease died too. Kill the disease and the host will wander aimlessly looking for something else to make him feel needed. Floyd was the worst sort of drug. He was worse than heroin… worse than smoking crack… he was worse than being addicted to meth, because there was no rehab to help him over this addiction. And anyway… didn't you want to come clean to be able to get clean? He thought so.

Together they dragged Floyd and strapped him to the travois. They laid him on his side and drew his legs up bent, otherwise they didn't think he would fit. They covered him over with sheets from the bed. He never twitched, blinked or made a sound the whole like they were moving him.

Sam was standing watching Spencer pile there belongings around Floyd. It was going to be a struggle to drag that thing, but it was better than hauling it in backpacks. At least Sam thought it was, but Sam wasn't the one who was going to be dragging it and now Sam had just his pyjama trousers, this top, a pair of hospital slippers and his gunbelts loaded with guns… heavy with ammo. He had spare rounds in his breast pocket. He'd always wondered why pyjamas had breast pockets… now he knew. He smiled at Floyd as Spencer tucked him in and then spoke quietly. 'Spencer, if Floyd dies… what happens to us? And does he just die here, or at The Bastion too?'

Spencer crouched, pulled the straps he'd rigged up to pull the travois and shook his head. 'There's no answer to that, Sam. I would be taking a wild guess and basing what happens in the future on a guess isn't good enough. What I'd like to do is find that hospital… for the medical supplies and there is transport there at least. Once there we will decide what is going to happen next.'

Sam shook his head. 'But what's the fucking point! It's not real! It doesn't matter where we go or what we do… if you're right and we are not really here…'

'But it can still hurt us. Look at your neck in the mirror. That happened whilst you slept, the same way that I hurt my wrists… I suggest that…'

'You've got it backwards! We are sleeping now! This is the fucking dream… you must have woken up… felt the pain… and that's why it's transferred over to here. This is the dream we need to control. The other thing is what is really happening. And we are all three of us going to die because we are trapped in some fucking fortress on the edge of hell… being tortured by angels!'

Spencer didn't know what was worse, being trapped by The Bastion or knowing that Sam was right. Both made him feel more than a bit unsettled in the stomach. He still didn't understand how, if that was true, that they were both having the same dream, but that was a minor point. 'Then we take control. We leave this motel and we get to a hospital and there we will find what we need. You can find what you need. As long as we believe it is real it _will_ be real. The dream might be slipping and sliding as we realise more and more of what's going on here, but it's still our dream and we can still make a difference.'

'They say that if you die in a dream that it kills you. The shock will kill you.' Sam pointed out. 'But how they know that's true I don't know. Surely if that happens you're dead and can't say… "Hey I just dreamed I died and here I am dead!" Doesn't work like that. So it's a theory and if this is a reality we are thinking up ourselves then we can say that it's bullshit. Don't you think?' Sam fiddled with the buckle of his gunbelt as he spoke.

'Absolutely!' Spencer gave a reassuring smile which maybe by the look on Sam's face wasn't all that reassuring. 'Come on. We've wasted enough time. We can talk about this as we walk. Can I persuade you to cover up a bit more?' Spencer was once again draped in the green and blue bed cover.

'Nope.' Sam walked to the door and flipped the lock. 'Ready when you are. Shoot everything we see.' And Sam pulled open the door. The blast of hot air swept the hair off his face. 'Holy fuck! It's hot out here!' Sam moaned, but with one of his guns now out of the holster and with one glance behind him, he stepped out. He heard the creaking of Spencer lifting the travois up and the groan the contraption made as Spencer started to move forwards. He couldn't imagine that it would last long, but he wiped a hand over his face and thought hard… _We will get there and nothing will go wrong_.

It was hard going. The wood at the ends of the travois dug deep into the soft ground. It was easier than carrying everything and trying to drag Floyd along, but it was by no means easy. The straps he'd made were digging into shoulders which were aching already. The breath was being squashed out of this lungs and Sam was jogging on in this white plastic hospital slippers like a refugee from an asylum. There was a hot sticky smell of melting road. It was now bubbling and not possible to use at all. They'd have to stick to the sidewalks which were made up out of paving slabs. Still the steam and ooze slipped out from in between them. There were more of the bright coloured puddles of something which almost looked alive. The parking lot in front of the motel was made up of tarmac… this was going to be the most difficult part of the trip. At least Spencer hoped so. Once on the paving it would be much easier. Sam ran on and stood on the corner of the lot. There was a burger bar with the glass shattered out over the road. The glass lay there in long deadly spikes. A few bodies remained in the street, but it looked as though they were being devoured by the blacktop or sinking deep down into it… melting away with everything else.

Sam waited at the corner for Spencer to catch up. He didn't think that screaming and shouting was a good idea out here. He squinted up at Spencer when he finally joined him and shook his head. 'This is so fucked.' He muttered. 'There were people out here. They've gone. Where've they gone? Are they all dead?'

'They are where you imagination has put them, I suspect. Jointly… the two of us. Come on… let's move before it starts to get dark. I don't want to see if those puddles glow or move around once the sun has gone.' Spencer looked up at the sky. It was the first time he'd really taken any notice of it. There was no blue expanse as he'd expected, it was a bright orange; as though the sun filled the whole of the sky. He attempted to think it away and bring back the blue, but it didn't even quiver.

Dodging the nasty things in between the paving wasn't that much of a problem, but it was very slow going. They made it down the first block with no real problems. Crossing the road was not good. Stand on it for too long and Spencer was sure that they'd get sucked down into whatever was below them. He thought it was likely to be fiery coals and eternal pain and that wasn't somewhere Spencer was prepared to go to yet… or ever. Sam ran across the quiet street and stood waiting for Spencer. He thought briefly about going to assist Spencer, who was clearly struggling… if that's what all that grunting and moaning was about, but Spencer wouldn't have wanted that. Spencer would have turned him back… being the man… fuck him. If that was his attitude then Sam wouldn't bother and so he stood there waving his gun around him, feeling the sweat run down his face and wishing he had something other than pyjamas to wear. He would, he was most sure, look so much better in leather… and lace… and ribbons in his lank damp hair.

When Spencer yanked the travois up off the side road and back onto the paving, Sam moved on. He had been checking out the shops along the side of the road as they went. They'd all been empty so far, but he lived in hope to find something useful. The first store claimed to be a drug store, but it was just a charred hole now. It saddened Sam to think of all the nice things which had been destroyed, but he shrugged it off, glanced back at Spencer who looked just a bit more than done in, and moved on. The next store was black around the edges but the damage was minimal. That didn't help though as the actual interior was devoid of anything except empty racking which might have once held bread. The wording on the cracked almost pulsating glass claimed that it was a bakers. He didn't doubt that and so moved on with yet another look back at Spencer who seemed to have only moved a couple of foot since he'd last looked at him.

'My fuck!' Sam cried out. 'Spencer! This shop has clothing. Beautiful stuff! I'm going to try to get in.' Spencer called a warning but Sam was ignoring him now. Hadn't he just been thinking about leather and lace? This shop was stuffed with it! And it was all men's stuff. 'Oh my fucking god!' Sam yelped out as he tried to push the doors open. They were locked. Kicking it didn't help. He'd have to do what Spencer had done and shoot the glass out, but he was going to get some of those clothes. He had to. He just had to have them! He pointed the gun at the plate glass window and somewhere Spencer shouted out something again…

'No, Sam! Don't!'

'Bastard.' Sam whispered. He wasn't going to let Spencer stop him.

The blast from the gun, like all the others was immense. Sam had expected the glass to just shatter to a hundred million tiny bits of glass. It didn't though. It cracked and broke in long deadly slithers which flew outwards over the sidewalk and over Sam who just stood with the gun still pointed at the shop and his mouth open in a silent scream.

Spencer saw it happen as though it was in slow motion. Sam fired the gun and if Spencer didn't know that it was impossible he'd have sworn that he actually saw the bullet fly from the barrel of the gun and embed it self into the glass… He saw shards arc outwards and shatter on the sidewalk and he saw the blood spray from Sam. He initially tried to break into a run, but it just wasn't possible. Spencer shrugged off the straps over his shoulders and lowered the travois to the ground and ran to Sam who was still standing and still pointing the gun forwards. Spencer was sure or at least hoping that the red he could see was mostly from the reflection of the sky. He took the gun easily from Sam's hand and slowly got him to sit.

'My face.' Sam muttered and then just flopped backwards onto the ground.

His face indeed. It was covered in shiny wet blood. Head wounds bleed a lot… but this wasn't just his head. He had blood coming from his chest and legs. Spencer could see a large lump of glass sticking out of Sam's shoulder… but yes… his face.

'Oh god.' Spencer moaned and sat down next to Sam looking at the bit of glass poking out of where Sam's eye had been. 'I can't cope with this. Sam… Sam I'm going to put you with Floyd. Hang on there. I'll get us all to the hospital and sort you out. I can't do it here. We can't stay here!' Spencer's voice rose to a howl as Sam started shaking and making the most god awful noises Spencer had ever heard. 'Please Sam… no… stay with me Sam. I'll help you. Stay awake! Don't sleep. You can't sleep. Please stay awake.' But Sam was gone. He'd slipped away somewhere dark. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth, but he was breathing. He was still breathing. 'I'll lay you down with Floyd.' Spencer wiped some of the blood off Sam's face with the hem of the thing he had wrapped around himself. He dared not touch that spiteful slither which looked as though it had sliced up the side of Sam's cheek before embedding it self in his eye. He dared not touch the bit in his shoulder, or the dagger of glass sticking out of Sam's chest. Spencer sat for a few seconds with the heel of this hands pressed against his own eyes. He felt so tired, so sick, so lost… this was beyond anything he would be able to fix. He couldn't fix this. He couldn't fix anything. He was useless. He had no use. He might as well be dead – again. They should have stayed at the motel. At least they were safe there. They had no idea what they were going to find at the hospital.

Spencer pulled the travois over to Sam and as quickly as he could manage strapped him in place next to Floyd, being oh so very careful not to touch any of the glass. What he wouldn't do for a car right now!

o-o-o

Floyd was curled up in a ghostly dim light. He had been chained by one foot to the wall. He could hear someone muttering, but there was no need to look and see who it was. He'd done that hours ago. It was a very beautiful young man wearing a red jacket and red jeans and though Floyd had shouted at him to shut up and though he'd tried to reach him and batter his pretty brains out, the young man who had introduced himself as _Ashwin_ was not going to be quiet and he was not going to let Floyd bash his brains out. Ashwin had a job to do and that was to keep Floyd awake and the enchantments he was continually muttering seemed to be doing the job.

'Ash – can you just tell me why you're doing this? Why you wont let me sleep?'

The young pretty face looked up at Floyd and shook his head. A long finger with a painted fingernail touched his lips. He wasn't permitted to communicate with Isgar. He had been told that the man had words made of poison. That they rot the mind of anyone willing enough to listen to him.

'Can't you just…'

Ashwin shook his head again and made a cutting gesture with his hand.

'Just tell me why?'

The young man moved from where he was sitting so that he was on his knees and leaning forwards slightly. He was still out of reach of the thing chained to the wall. 'The monster must not sleep.' He spoke in a voice so sweet and wonderful that Floyd rattled his chain in frustration. He would have that young thing on his hands and knees before he knew what had hit him.

'I'm not a monster.' Floyd used his sad voice.

'You did monstrous things. That makes you a monster. Now no more talking.'

'Ashwin, every word you say to me makes me want…'

'I don't want to know. Please be silent or I will have to call someone in to silence you. We have things we can use. Now be quiet.' The young man smiled and sat back again with his legs crossed.

'You don't know what you're missing. Just let me loose. I wont tell anyone it was you.' Floyd gave Ashwin his most charming smile.

'I will know. I will be asked and I will have to say. Do you really think that I want to end up like you? Twisted, hated, reviled to the point that it ends like this? No. I don't. So please, no more requests or threats. You are no threat to me, and you have nothing to offer me except your filth, which I don't wish to be spoiled by.'

'Come on Ash! One kiss. A dying wish… let me just feel those lips on me.'

Ashwin sighed. 'One more word and you will be silenced. A tongue is needed for most verbal communication. Don't force my hand.'

'Ashwin…' The young man made to stand up but Floyd gestured for him to sit again. 'What will happen if I sleep?'

The young man shrugged. 'It's not for me to know such things.'

'You really think that…' Again Ashwin started to stand. 'Forget it. I'll be quiet. I rather like my tongue and so do my buddies. You ever had your dick licked? I bet you've not. My apologies. Silence. I know. But next time you have your cock in your hand, remember what you've missed.'

'Your seduction technique is not going to work. I promise you, one more word and I will have your tongue removed.'

Floyd nodded and lay back down again. He kept his eyes open and watched Ashwin's mouth move as he uttered his enchantments over him. He would get him. As soon as he was released, Ashwin was going to be top of his list of things to have violent and bloody sex with.

o-o-o

Whereas Floyd they wanted to keep awake, Sam and Spencer, they wanted to keep asleep. They'd slipped up not so long ago and allowed Spencer to crawl back to consciousness, but it wasn't going to happen again. They drugged him regularly and fed him just enough to keep him alive. It seemed to be working. It had taken a while to get the drugs at the correct level. After all they didn't want him dead.

Sam was again a different matter. They tried drugging him but he seemed to be very resistant and the potions didn't act on Sam as they did on Spencer. It was obvious that it was because he wasn't human. This was a little demon and so would be given the treatment he deserved. Sam was for now in a crumpled heap on the floor.

'Too much blood. You went too far.' Someone was complaining. 'You realise that this whole game will be over if he dies? Clean up that mess.'

'I went as far as I could without killing the creature. He's tough. Interesting. We don't often have one to experiment on like this. He'll live and he will also be sleeping for a long time. But sometimes we have to do this, sir. We have to know what to do to cut them down. This war will never end unless we make a move and these games are not helping unless we at least get information from it.'

'Not helping in the slightest! But they're a good distraction. Isgar will eventually repent, but I need this thing alive for now. Later I give my word you can have his head on a spike. His use is short term. I don't like it when my children misbehave. I thought expulsion would have shown him the error, but it made him worse and so I've taken away his toys and now we sit and we wait and play games to amuse ourselves. Clean up the mess you've made.'

'Yes sir.' The man who was holding a small knife in his hand said.

o-o-o

It cut through Floyd's head like someone had just stuck a pick axe in his ear.

_Floyd – We need you. Please come back. Sam is hurt. I can't cope alone. Please, Floyd wake up, or come back from where you are. Floyd we need you. Sam needs you. I don't know what to do. Wake up! Come back to us! Come back Floyd!_

It was Spencer. Floyd let out a groan and wrapped his arms around his head. He peeped out and saw that Ash was sitting with his head down and his lips only just moving. If Floyd was lucky the jerk would fall asleep, but until then… Floyd rolled over onto his side with his back to the voice. Again he wrapped his arms around his head, closed his eyes and took a long deep breath. He could do this. He could fight that fucking enchantment keeping him here. He knew he was stronger than Ash. If his Sam was in trouble and if Spencer was calling him… Sorry, very sorry, but nothing was going to keep him away.

'What are you doing?' The voice suddenly asked. 'You need to face me. I have to see your face.'

'Screw you. I'm trying to get some peace in my head. You wont let me sleep, at least let me…'

'NO! You will turn and face me.'

Floyd moved his hands down and tucked them tightly under his chin. 'I'm staying as I am. Tired of looking at your ugly face.' Floyd heard a sigh and then movement. Surely is wasn't going to be this easy. Surely not. Floyd remained calm. He took another of those deep breaths and clenched his fists ready. He could sense that Ashwin had moved closer to him and that was confirmed when he spoke.

'You will turn and face me.'

'I will not.' Floyd whispered back.

'What? What did you say?'

A hand touched Floyd's arm… and Ashwin died. Floyd broke his neck before the poor creature was even aware that Floyd had moved his hands and now with the sweet thing draped over him and those lips in such close proximity, Floyd had a quick grope and a kiss… 'Claimed you, Ashwin. You will forever walk in my shadow. Silly, foolish creature, thought you could get the better of me? I'm sure someone will, but not you.' Floyd then closed his eyes and sighed… _I'm on my way Babes…_ and he drifted off into a much desired sleep… at least for a short while and that short while was just going to have to be enough.


	12. Chapter 12

12

Floyd blinked and for a moment thought he was flying. He was laying down and yet moving along laying on his back and staring up at the ceiling. There was strip lighting, white tiles and dare he even think that he could hear the thrum of air conditioning… nah… would have been nice though. He sat up and realised that he was being dragged along on a hospital bed.

'Spencer?' His voice was low and rough. He coughed and spoke again. The result was delightful! Really it was. Spencer was on him and wrapping his arms around him. Floyd got a kiss on the nose and then on the mouth. Fingers twisted through his hair and Floyd really wouldn't have been surprised if Spencer had offered sexual favours… nay! Insisted on them. There was no time.

'There's no time.' Floyd spoke into Spencer warm sweet mouth. 'I don't know how long we have. Quick, where are we? What happened to Sam.'

Floyd jumped down from the bed and gave a good show at disguising how shaky and wobbly he was feeling. He listened to Spencer's chatter, chatter… chat… blah, blah, blah… on and on and on… repeating the same thing… then Floyd just tuned out and walked to the bed Sam was laying on. The continual noise, a low buzzing of voice was going on in Floyd's ear as he looked down at Sam. Spencer had placed them both on hospital beds and was pushing one and pulling the other. Their things were hanging from the ends off the beds.

'He's going to be unhappy about that.' Floyd muttered over Spencer's drone.

'I'm not actually asleep.' Sam groaned. 'How bad is it?'

Floyd turned to Spencer and then looked back at Sam again. 'Have either of you slept today? Yesterday? Because you see it's sort of important that you do. Sammy-boy, you've got a gash up your mug and some glass in your eye. Well, you've got glass where your eye used to be, but before you get all dramatic, it doesn't matter because this is the dream. You need to sleep here so that you will awaken there. Does that make sense?' Floyd plucked the largest bit of glass out of Sam's eye socket and dropped it to the floor. This action as accompanied by much screaming and gnashing of teeth on Sam's behalf and a soft moan of disgust on Spencer's. 'I don't know how much time I have. I had to top some pretty boy who was trying to keep me awake. If we sleep over there we are awake here… vice versa. Get it? Pretty soon I'm going to be awake again and you two will do something else totally ridiculous. Well done on getting here though. You did good.' He now pulled on the glass in Sam's shoulder. 'What you need to do is this.' Floyd whispered secrets which he didn't want anyone else to hear… 'Get some sleeping pills and take as many as you can without killing yourself. You don't want to be dead, but you need to sleep. That way you will awaken over there. We are certainly in The Bastion. I am working on a plan but it's very vague.'

'Plan.' Spencer muttered. 'What sort of plan? How can we help?'

'As I said – it's very vague.'

'How vague?' Sam was still gritting his teeth and his voice came out as a muffled hiss.

'Oh – quite.' Floyd nodded. 'It's at the beginning of the planning stages.'

Spencer frowned. 'How near to the beginning?'

'It's at that point where I've just decided to make a plan. Stop fucking nagging me! I'm doing what I can. You're both still alive, but Sam… I think you're in trouble. Be nice. Be very nice. Keep your hands off our genitals and just…'

'Be nice?' Sam asked. 'Why. What have they got planned.'

Floyd turned to Spencer. 'If we were to be killed we would already be dead. That's not their plan. This is some kind of experiment. And they actually can't kill me. They can exorcise me and they can throw me down, or imprison me, but they can't kill me. I am – one of god's creatures – it's forbidden.' He thought briefly at how he'd killed Ashwin and then forgot about it again. 'Spencer you are too. They wont kill you.' Now, let's find something to clean Sam's wounds up with shall we? Don't look so worried.'

Sam snagged at Floyd's arm. 'They wont kill me either?'

That was such a pleading tone that Floyd was almost tempted to lie, but this was one occasion when the truth hurt so much that it was not possible to lie. 'No, Sam… Sammy-boy… my darling sweet little cunt-boy.' Floyd clicked his fingers in Sam's face. 'As quickly as that. They would and they probably will. You're nothing. You were created in hell my sweet thing and yes, they'll wipe you out of existence if they feel the need. Vivisection.' Again Floyd turned to Spencer.

'They'd not dare! They…' Without looking behind him, Floyd rested a hand o Sam's leg.

'No time to discuss how the bureaucracy works… no time. I could fall down asleep at any minute. Remember what you have to do. Sleep. When you are sleeping, your dreams are the reality. This is your dream. You are sleeping.'

Spencer understood. Sam understood and didn't like it one tiny bit. 'So you suggest that I sleep here where I am mostly alive and go somewhere where they're going to cut me open and see how my insides work? And I'll be alive? I'll be awake?'

Too many questions and not enough time. Floyd started to push Sam's bed down the corridor. 'Do the elevators work?' There was a small positive sound from Spencer and a whining cry of distress from Sam.

As it happened they didn't end up using the elevator. There was a small hospital pharmacy which Floyd raided quickly, taking only what he really needed. He grabbed some dressings and sticky tape and got to work on Sam right there. He told Spencer to go find a machine or something with drinks in it other that water. 'I'd even drink some of the herbal green tea shit.' He informed Spencer. 'Take a gun! Don't go anywhere unarmed. Never. Understand me?'

He understood. Maybe he didn't like the idea of wandering off alone again, but he understood. 'He's going to be all right?' Spencer gestured to Sam who now had a big white pad covering his eye. If this was a dream though, what good was fixing Sam up going to do? 'Can I have a quick word in private?' Spencer had a gun stuffed in his pocket and was jigging from foot to foot. He watched Floyd pat Sam on the arm and say something in his ear and then walked off quickly with Spencer.

'Be quick. I don't have much time.' He spoke quietly, but probably his voice still travelled to Sam's ears.

'Why are you fixing up Sam? Can't we just go to sleep and try to wake up… If you get my meaning.' Spencer was still jigging foot to foot like a junky needing his next fix. It wasn't the first time and probably wouldn't be the last he'd seen Spencer like this. He seemed hyped up to the gills. Ready to explode into junky boy action.

Floyd took his arm and pulled him close. He breathed in Spencer's scent and rested his head on Spencer's shoulder. His voice was quiet and muffled. 'Because I love him? Because if it was you I'd do the same? Because I can't stand to see him in that mess… and probably because if I help him here I'm helping him elsewhere. I'm attempting to show them that I care for you. That I need you as much as you need me.' He stood back slightly now but took Spencer's hand and walked a short way down the corridor and around the corner. Here he pushed Spencer against the wall and placed his hands on Spencer's shoulders. 'Initially, I was sent… not by _Them_, but by the lot who have us now. I was told to go protect you. Guardian Angel shit. That's what I've been doing. I can't _not_ do it. I have no desire to stop doing it, but Spencer… I need to show them that I'm still up to the job, even if my methods are not always to their liking.' He moved away from Spencer and walked to a vending machine and prodded buttons that didn't work. 'You're special. Not second coming of Christ sort of special, but you have so much to offer. So much to give. But they've put me in a situation where they have put you in danger and I feel I'm going to have to kill the bastards to get you out of it.' He pointed to the machine. 'I'm really tired. Get me something with caffeine in it. Something to keep me awake. I'm going to see to Sam and knowing how difficult he is to sedate, I'm going to have to force him to sleep.'

'My Guardian Angel.' Spencer looked around him, felt the weight of the gun in his pocket, saw the stress on Floyd's face and Sam's blood on Floyd's hands. 'You're doing a bang up job. I'll get you a drink. Go see to Sam.'

Spencer used the butt of the gun to cause some minor vandalism to the vending machine. It wasn't easy to smash his way in, but not impossible either. Between each crack of noise he made he could hear Sam's wailing of pain – or annoyance; it was hard to tell which it was, but eventually he had three bottles of coke in his hands. The gun back in his pocket and a quiet apology to the machine and Spencer was walking back to the corner.

Floyd was bent over Sam muttering, when Spencer arrived back again. That was his first concern. Sam's shouts were his second.

'Don't! Don't you dare! Don't fall asleep! Floyd!'

Spencer could see Sam's hands moving rapidly over Floyd but it wasn't until he was up close that he could see that Sam was pinching and scratching at him. Floyd though was still mumbling… he wasn't asleep again yet. Spencer thrust an open bottle into Floyd's hand and as he looked up to take it a spray of blood issued from his mouth as though someone had punched or kicked him in the face. Floyd's hand raised to take the bottle but never made it. He gave Spencer a slightly alarmed look and folded up onto the floor.

'They're killing him! Do something! Wake him up!' Sam was now trying to scrabble off the bed, but Spencer was shaking his head.

'Sam.' He grabbed him and pushed him back onto the hospital bed. 'There is nothing we can do. They're woken him up. His part in this dream is over. Now we have to go too. You need to sleep.' He picked up the sleeping pills Floyd had taken from the pharmacy and looked at them. Floyd had said they'd not work on Sam. He'd have to do something else. 'Just lay back and relax. Try to sleep.'

'No! I've had glimpses of the other place. I don't want to be there!' Again Sam tried to get up and off the bed. 'I want to be with Floyd!'

Ah – that surge of jealousy again. It wasn't good. It wasn't a nice feeling. It was a sick and low feeling which made Spencer's stomach ach and his heart thump faster in his chest. 'You will be with him if you sleep. Nothing here is real. Sleep and all this damage you've taken will be gone. Your eye will be better. That's got to be good hasn't it?'

Sam had to agree that was good. He put a hand over the patch and nodded. 'But I can't sleep and those pills wont work.'

Now Spencer nodded. 'I know, so I'm going to help you. I will sleep and curl up and hold you tight. You will be safe. I'll be right here with you. OK? Nothing to worry about. Just let the sleep come to you. We will be together again. Everything will be as it should be.' He hated the lies. Lies which came to him so easily when Floyd was involved. 'It's nice here. Not too hot. Easy to sleep.' Spencer climbed up onto the bed next to Sam. 'Roll over and close your eyes. I'm here. Floyd is sleeping on the floor there. Everything is good. We are together.' He waited for Sam to roll over onto his side and then Spencer gently ran his fingers through Sam's hair. 'Just relax. You wont sleep if you're not relaxed.' He slipped the hand gun out of his pocket as he spoke. 'I'll look after you. I'll protect you.' More stroking of the hair and a finger running over the line of Sam's ear. He pulled his hair back off his face and looked at the place he was going to clout Sam. 'See you again soon.' He gave Sam a kiss goodbye. For all Spencer knew this was the end. Sam would die, he would take the sleeping pills and die. It would be over. What happens when you die in hell? Do you fall further? Do you end up on the pit or hanging from that weird bridge of bars, like a fly caught in a spider's web? He had no idea. He sighed as he heard Sam's breathing relax. Not so much to fool Spencer that he was sleeping.

There was a loud crunch as the metal of the gun hit the side of Sam's head. A small spray of blood and a surprised twitch from Sam… finally he was relaxed. Sam was sleeping. He hoped. Spencer did as he promised though, but not up here on the bed. He climbed back down again and lifted Sam off, placing him on the floor with Floyd. He put Sam in front of Floyd and draped Floyd's arms around Sam, and then Spencer lay on the floor in front of Sam.

He took twelve sleeping pills. An hour later he was still awake. He took five more, crunching down on them and this time using water to wash it down and not coke. Slowly the world darkened. Spencer had hoped for at least a small moment, maybe just a few minutes of peace, but it didt happen.

o-o-o

Floyd woke up being kicked in the face.

Sam woke up dangling by one arm from the wall. He could feel something wet sliding down his face and as he looked up to try to see what was going on, firstly it was obvious that the wet stuff was the contents of his eye, secondly that his mouth seemed to be full of blood. He coughed and sprayed the man standing in front of him.

Spencer woke up too. He was still hanging by his wrists. Like Sam he lifted his head to look around. Two men stood there. Two men holding what looked to be batons.

'You need to go back to sleep.' One of them told him and moved forwards with his weapon raised.

Spencer took a long shuddering breath. 'Do what you must do, but I know now what's going on. My dream over there has ended. The game is over. Either end it and remove me as a playing piece or bring someone here who will talk to me.'

'You can talk to us.' The man still standing back a bit said with amusement in his voice.

'I can, but I don't think you will understand me.' He watched the baton rise again. 'Hit me… send me to sleep, but as I said, I can't go back because that game has ended.'

It didn't stop the baton from coming down on the side of Spencer's head. He felt his teeth rattle in his head… blood filled his mouth and a nasty crunch joined in the second smack from the weapon as it caught him across the nose. Spencer cried out in anger more than pain, but the sleeping tablets, even though only from a dream were doing their work here. He was still awake. They hit him in the stomach, pushing all the air out of his lungs as he howled in pain. This was going to be painful… Very painful. The smack under the jaw caused very briefly a glimpse of somewhere dark and cold, but it was the pain of a broken jaw which was keeping him awake now. He hoped that Floyd and Sam were having a better time of it. He couldn't hear them screaming. That had to be good didn't it? He wanted to scream at them to stop! But he didn't. He wasn't going to let them win this. He'd cheated maybe, had used a fixed dice when he made that last roll, but that was their problem. They wouldn't kill him. He knew that. But they could cause him a lot of pain.

**a/n: Sorry, been very distracted by the riots over here in London. Another short chapter. :(**


	13. Chapter 13

13

'Look at it like this.' Floyd spoke and spat blood out of a mouth which felt slightly broken. 'I'm not going to give in to whatever demands you're making. Spencer is stronger willed than you think – partially the way I've trained him – I really don't give a fuck what happens to Sam. Dispose of him if that's going to make you happy, but you have to firstly listen to what I've got to say.' Again he spat blood.

There was no reason they'd listen to any plea or reason or accept any deal. Floyd had reneged on deal after deal by tangling himself up with _Them_ and this lot of self righteous bastards were well aware of that. Floyd could stick to a contract, but he could also find a million ways to get out of it again. The small print in those deals was so miniscule that you needed a microscope to see it. They knew that whatever deal Floyd tried to pull here that he'd go right back to what he had been for most of his existence… a vessel to create chaos and cause as much pain and angst as he could. All Floyd needed to keep him going was his Spencer. They knew that. They knew that very well. And they knew that all the time they had Spencer they had also had Isgar-Quenell by the balls.

'You think that after killing one of the brothers we are going to listen to you?' That was a very amused voice. It was thigh slapping humour. It didn't make Floyd laugh though.

'Oh I'm sure you can fix him. It was nothing so dreadful, but it raises the question as to why you can fuck with me and I'm not permitted to fuck you back. Then again isn't that why I was kicked out in the first place? Irrelevant though. I'm not going to waste my time or breath nattering away to you. I want to speak to someone else.'

They were of course right. He had killed the pretty boy. He was also right, they could fix him. Wasn't that what this place was all about? Eternal wonder and love? Except obviously when the loving reached the point of having to stick your parts up woodland creatures arses. However, Floyd still felt mightily hard done by. They'd not treated him with the kid gloves – or respect that he desired. They were refusing to let him have what he wanted. Just a bit of freedom. Just a little bit of self will. Was that too much to ask? They had left the room, but before they left they used fists and booted feet on the prisoner, just to ensure that he remembered that he _was_ the prisoner and they _could_ hurt him and he couldn't hurt them in return. Oh not now that they had both of his hands nailed to a wall and his feet in shackles. Even Floyd didn't fancy tearing his hands off just to prove a point. He did consider it – obviously – he'd not be Floyd if he didn't consider it and wonder if he could re-grow his hands. He wasn't sure. He actually had a small amount of doubt surrounding the fact.

'Try to escape and we _will_ destroy that Sam thing and Spencer will wish he'd never been born… and died… He will definitely wish he'd never met you.'

So Floyd stood there with his hands just about at hip level and his palms against the wall and a rather large hooked spike going through the back of his hands and it hurt. And he was glad that Spencer wasn't in this much pain when he'd nailed his hands to the table that time. Yes he was very glad about that. This sort of pain wouldn't have been good for Spencer's delicate mental health. Surely if it had hurt this much… you know? Like your hands had just been pulverised, then surely Spencer would have screamed… maybe even as much as Floyd himself had screamed, but Spencer had remained silent hadn't he? Floyd couldn't remember Spencer screaming. He pissed himself, but that was because he couldn't get to the loo, not because of this fucking PAIN!

He was sure they'd only done this so he'd humiliate himself this way. It's the sort of thing Sam does. Sam's constantly pissing himself. Dirty fuck. Did that mean that Sam was constantly in pain? Or did Sam's fear of pain make his bladder give way. That made Sam a coward. Floyd didn't like cowards. It's why he adored Spencer so much. He might cry and whimper and crawl on his belly and beg to be forgiven, but the guy wasn't a fucking pissing cowardly little SHIT!

'Do you know how hard it is to keep my balance standing here like this? Hey motherfuckers! Where the hell are you? Come talk to me! I'll make a deal. You get me some morphine or some of my snort and I'll do whatever you want! Oy Ya! Where are you? Talk to me! Make a deal.'

o-o-o

Spencer was next on the rota of people they wanted to talk to. They needed to explain the situation to Spencer. They spoke slowly. They didn't use words which were too long. They left long dramatic pauses to give Spencer time to digest what was being said to him.

'Mistakes were made.' They told him. 'It would be nice to be able to tell you that some mistakes can be fixed, but this isn't the case here. We don't want to hear your excuses. We gave you a chance to be free of Floyd. We forbade him to contact you. He once again broke the rules. Foolishly we thought that your life since Floyd got involved with you was so bad that you'd be better off without him. We considered you special. We wanted to see you bloom and spread your wings and… and well you didn't. You folded your preverbal wings and failed to flourish. Such a waste. And I don't want to hear your excuses about what a hard time you had. There are those worse off than you who don't need a chemical crutch to get them through the day. There are people whose lives have been far less desirable than yours was and they've not crumpled under and let the world walk all over them. We underestimated your ability to give in. Your need to be controlled. You do like to be controlled don't you, Spencer? This though is the problem as we see it.' Dramatic pause. 'Your death can be rectified. That's not the problem. The problem is that Floyd was sent to watch over you, not masturbate into you – and we sealed a contract. It's a three way contract, much like the one you made with Floyd and Sam – and we can't change that if Floyd isn't willing and you're not willing to change it. The only option we have is for the deal – the situation – to stay in place and for Floyd to change.' Another pause in which Spencer didn't talk. His face hurt too much to talk. 'We are a race of beings – I suppose that's the best way to put this, who are benevolent. We don't run around killing our own. We don't cause _un-necessary_ pain.' Pause. 'But we certainly will cause pain if we feel we need to. Please understand that. Some creatures will only respond to violence and pain. You're one of them. We again made an error when peering into your mind. We saw a very intelligent life. We saw something which could become something wondrous. We wanted you on our team, Spencer and so sent a guardian. That was the mistake. The guardian we chose was faulty and that was not known until after the fact. Too late now. Too late. Much to late. Now there have been talks – and when your own self has an eternity to live sometimes things take a while. We have a busy plate, Spencer. You're not the only one we consider special.'

'Muuh.' Spencer muttered. He wanted to ask questions but that one sound caused enough pain to make bright stars burst into his vision.

'We will however give you more comfortable living quarters. As we said, we don't want your death.'

Spencer wanted to say that it was too late, but now just moving his tongue cased flashes of pain across his face.

'Isgar-Quenell will be shown the error of his ways. You will learn that your disgusting behaviour will not be permitted. You have been given a short lesson in our methods of behaviour control, can we hope that you wont need another one soon?' There was no chance to answer even if he'd wanted to and none of this really told Spencer what was going on. He did, though manage to mutter one word.

'Sam?'

It was obviously a question and one which Spencer needed an answer to, but it was ignored. The room emptied of speakers and bystanders and the door was slammed.

_Floyd? Floyd – what's going on?_ He projected his thought for an hour or so and then gave up. Either the message wasn't getting through or Floyd was unable to answer. Neither option was very comforting. Spencer spat some blood out and wriggled his toes. He would leave it for a while. Leave it and try again. Floyd was here. He must be able to reach him.

Floyd did hear Spencer. He heard him and for a second was tempted to open up and give him a call back. Tell him all was going well. Plan was falling into place just fine. They would be out of here real soon. He was tempted to tell Spencer to just hold on there. He was going to rescue him and lick him better…

But he didn't.

He stood there nailed to the wall and ground his teeth in annoyance.

The bastards here would know.

And Floyd had decided that part one of his plan was going to involve him doing what they wanted.

o-o-o

Sam made a mental list. He dangled there bleeding and beaten and wondered what his chances of getting out of this alive were. They weren't good. They'd told him that much at least.

They will tire of me and let me go.

They will pound me to mush on the floor and feed me to the roses.

They will remove my head and put it on display somewhere. (probably on a shelf next to the nearest shitter.)

They will cut bits off and let me go.

They will realise what a wonder of dark nature I am and decide to give me a soul.

They will force me to watch re-runs of Rosanne for eternity.

None of the above.

All of the above.

Then there was the chance that he would be rescued and his death down there will be recovered. Except he didn't know if that was possible as Taki had done it. He'd been assassinated. That actually cheered him up slightly. At least he was worth killing!

'What are you going to do to me?' He asked when someone walked in with a long chain and happy look on his face. The someone didn't bother answering. He'd been warned that this was a dark creature. Dark creatures only talk in lies. Moreover this was a Darkling who had been created by Isgar… Isgar the traitor – Isgar the monster. If Isgar was bad then his Darkling would also be a monster. The someone had no intention of getting into conversation with this thing. He linked the chain to the one holding Sam's arm up on the wall and pulled it away. The chain was long enough that he could drag the thing behind him and not be at risk. Sam attempted to get to his feet, but he wasn't given that chance. He was hauled over the floor and out of the door. There were more people here. Some were chanting something which made Sam feel very sick. Some held up symbols of things which were almost familiar and they made him want to scream. Whatever it was they were doing seemed to confirm something they'd already guessed… or even already knew but had to prove. Sam was dragged – and now he didn't hold back on the screams – down the passage, bump, bump, scream, bump, scrape, up some stairs. It felt like they were ripping his arm off his body and he shouted that a few times, but it made no difference. They didn't seem to care. His shoulder made a nasty _crack_ and Sam screamed some more as something either broke or was pulled out of where it should be. Still they didn't react.

'You're hurting me!'

It was worth a try. Hadn't Floyd told him to be nice? He was trying… they just were not responding too well to it.

'I'm sorry! Please whatever it is you have planned, I'm sorry. Please don't hurt me.' And then. 'It's not my fault.'

Oh at last! After four flights of spiral stairs, being dragged by an arm which was either shattered or maybe bruised a bit, they stopped dragging him and someone… a different someone… the guy in the green and yellow coat, he came over and crouched down next to Sam.

'I'm going to show you something wonderful.'

Sam hoped it was a dose of morphine. 'Ah. Ok.'

'Though I don't think that you have a chance of living through it, it seems only the right thing to do. As you said – it's not your fault. You didn't ask to be created. You didn't ask for Floyd to do what he's done. I'm not going to say that you would or could have been this perfect young man had Floyd not corrupted you, because you _are_ corruption. That's all you are. You have no soul, boy, but you have a very dark and very sick spirit and _that_ is what I am going to attempt to at least give a chance to. As I said it might cause your death.' He moved back slightly.

'I don't want to die.'

'We are all of us, every single creature ever created, here for a reason. Your reason no longer exists and for that reason alone you can be wiped out of existence, but I also have a sense of humour, Sam. I love a good joke! Isgar or Floyd as you like to call him, will be delighted with what I have planned.'

Sam repeated. 'I don't want to die.'

The man in the coat grimaced slightly. 'You don't understand the situation do you? You really have no idea.'

'I just…'

'Don't want to die. I heard you. I listened to you too. I am giving you a chance. Slim as it is. You were killed by a demon weapon which funnily enough might be your way out of this. We are going to remove the dark from your spirit. We are going to heal you. If you die in the process, so be it. It wasn't meant to happen. If you survive you might… well… let's cross that bridge when we come to it. You will be secured in a room. You will undergo tests. They will hurt. You will scream. I don't care.' He now ignored the barrage of questions being fired from Sam and turned to the people he was with. 'Take it away. You know what to do. I want to hear nothing of this until there is a result. I'm tired of their meddling. This has to end. It will end. I will make very sure of that.'

He spun on his heels and walked quickly back down the stairs. His feet didn't make a sound.


	14. Chapter 14

14

Spencer had been given somewhere with a bed. That at least was a comfort. He felt so weak and tired that he could hardly move and when he did move the pain it caused reminded him quickly as to why he should keep still. They gave him some light broth to eat, which they said would assist in taking the pain away, but it looked and smelt odd. It reminded Spencer of some of the things Floyd had presented to him in the past. Suspect things. Things which were probably made up of mashed and boiled brain. It made his stomach heave and his ribs hurt just looking at it. He'd not be able to drink it without puking, and Spencer didn't know if he had the strength to puke. He left it, steaming lightly on the small wooden table and gave his new living quarters a better look. He was suddenly aware that he needed his glasses. Oddly when he was with Floyd he hardly ever needed them. It was as though Floyd made little needs like being able to see properly un-necessary. He carefully rubbed at his eyes and squinted around the dimly lit room. The walls were whitewashed stone. There were splashes of paint on the floor. There were symbols and signs, written in some code Spencer couldn't decipher, covering the white paint. The patterns carried on and covered the ceiling, but the floor was bare brown stone. The door which was dark wood was covered in carvings. Even the metal door handle was inscribed with something. Spencer figured, rightly, that they were some kind of protection. Either to keep something out, or more probably to keep him in. The thought of actually getting up and touching the door never even crossed his mind. In the room, apart from the bed he was laying on was a desk covered in books, a hole in the floor with a wooden ridge, which apparently was his toilet, and a water pump, which reminded him of the one which had caused so much trouble oh so long ago now. Under the spout on the curved metal pipe was a large wooden bowl. This bowl too had inscriptions and sigils covering it. Spencer wondered if it would make the water _holy_ or something. He didn't bother, at least for now, investigating that. Not even the books which had been supplied filled Spencer with the sort of joy or elation they normally would have. He flopped back onto the bed and waited. They would come and they would explain eventually. The other thing Spencer had been given was a set of clothing. He'd been manipulated and dressed by a grumpy trio of grey bearded men. They'd slipped him into a pair of dark jeans and a white shirt with some kind of pattern woven into it. He'd managed to roll the sleeves up and then had stared at his wrists for a while. They were a mess. His inner arms were a mess. They showed every mark and cut he'd ever made. There were a few bumped up scars going across, a couple running from his inner elbow to his wrists. There were cigarette burns, small raised pale lines and some dents. Further up his arms there were old scars from needles. His lovely track marks. He could see a scar on the palm of each hand and when he turned his hands over there was one on the back to match. Spencer clenched his fists and looked at the way the scar stretched. It looked like he'd had a dreadful accident. He lay there trying to work out what he could say, what excuses he could make if he ever wanted to wear short sleeves again. A watch over the cuff of his shirt wasn't going to give security now. He wondered about the rest of his body. Spencer knew that there were track marks in other places, between his toes, for example. He didn't look down at his feet though. That seemed like too much of an effort. Cautiously he felt his face, feeling for scars and damage. His jaw was swollen and his nose didn't feel quite right, but other than that his face seemed fine.

'That's because he avoids damaging your face.' A female voice suddenly said.

Spencer thought it was in his head, that someone had projected the voice there, but he could hear soft breathing and turned his head to look. It was the Old Woman, standing there as though she belonged, wearing her purple caftan and with her hair blowing in a breeze Spencer couldn't feel. The Old Woman didn't belong here though. She should be out on the green grass, meeting and greeting and speaking in riddles.

'What?' That one question fitted everything Spencer wanted to say to her.

'I'm here because I like you, Spencer. I think you are confused and damaged, emotionally, but I like you.'

Spencer shifted his position and pushed up onto his elbows. 'How did you get in?'

She gestured around herself and walked in a small circle. 'You think these fools can keep me out? I outrank them so many times it would make your head spin. They require that you confess, admit to what you've done. Your sins weigh deeply. You can see that by the trail of pain and suffering on your arms.'

Spencer's eyes narrowed slightly 'You can get me out of here? You can make them release me?'

The Old Woman walked to the bed and sat down. She patted Spencer on the knee and smiled. 'No, no, I can't do that, but I can forgive you if you ask for forgiveness. I can ensure that they listen to me. They'd dare not, but I can't just open a door and let you go. It doesn't work that way. Too much red tape. You know how it goes.'

'Floyd?'

She shook her head. 'Always back to the same. How many times has Floyd run to me with his tail between his legs asking for forgiveness? Asking for another try. Asking, begging, pleading to have another go… and how many times have I sat and listened to his whining and bitching and his sob story of how unfair life and death are. There has to be an end to it, Spencer. You can understand that can't you? He's chosen to make his nest with a mortal and he _knows_ how that just cannot be allowed. Not everything created is perfection. Floyd is faulty, but somehow he has managed to make his imperfections likable… perfect. It's a puzzling situation. It's not really his fault. He was, like you were, corrupted. A darkness snuck into his spirit when we were unguarded. Maybe it was our fault. We were –incautious – lazy… yes, I'd say that we'd gotten lazy. The small warnings that things were going wrong we ignored. We felt the power flowing through our bodies! Who could come and take that? Who would dare come against us when we can, if we want, destroy millions with a flick of a finger. Only a great fool would dare, and a great fool we would see. Languid fools we were, and now we pay for that. It's not just Floyd who was corrupted. There were many, but Floyd I think was the most disappointing, the most dangerous to our good nature. He had already been sent to guard you. He even started off doing a fairly good job of it. But it's easy to make sure that a baby is safe. It's easy to keep a young child away from danger… Yes he did good work, but then…' She shrugged. '… well you are well aware of what happened. He made himself known to you. The corruption took over. He found that making small deals here and there with the other side was in his favour. Can I say, he mixed with a bad crowd. So it has led us to this. What to do with you. Cleanse Floyd, discard The Sam… cure you. Send you back with a different guardian, but you're going to have to request that. Floyd is going to have to admit what he is… you need to persuade him.'

Spencer tried to digest everything he was told, but it was making his head hurt. 'I'll not do anything of the sort. I need Floyd. I need… I need Sam too. I'm not going to do something to hurt them. Why are you asking me this? You know me. You know how much I need him. I can't… I can't persuade him to cut the bond. It's not… just not possible.'

She smiled and nodded. 'Good. That's what I wanted to hear. But I do need to point out that the chances of Sam coming through this unscathed are next to nothing. He's demonic. He's not one of us who's made the wrong choices or even one like you who has been despoiled. Sam isn't a naughty little boy, like Floyd. Sam is evil incarnate. I cannot help him or give him a voice. He's not one of ours. They will – I am afraid – destroy him. He is a cancer, a disease, a dreadful sickness and they will do what they can to find a way to… kill it. They don't get many chances of getting their hands on a thing like Sam.'

'Floyd mentioned Vivisection.'

She said nothing at first but looked sad and nodded. She pulled in a deep breath and let it out slowly. 'If we can find a way to destroy Sam with the use of sigils and wards then we can dispel the evil from Floyd. You understand that don't you?'

'You're going to experiment on Sam.'

'Yes… yes we are, but understand that Sam is just an annoying bug. He has no real feelings. He has no real emotions. His tears are false, copied from others. He's nothing. And if he is nothing then he will feel nothing. It's like swatting a fly, Spencer, that's all. You would protect yourself against malaria if you could, wouldn't you? Well we wish to protect against things like Sam… we need to protect our selves against the terrible disease Floyd has. You can see that?'

Spencer had the sudden urge to shout at the woman that he hated her. He bit back the childish words and shook his head. 'He feels pain as much as I do. He's not a bug… he's…'

'A demon. A lesser one, granted… and maybe even could be said he's Floyd's clone, which makes him special, but he's created from darkness and will stay darkness. They only way to destroy darkness is to give light and that I'm afraid will destroy it.' He patted Spencer's knee again. 'I suggest you start reading. You will get information from the books. I need to go and have a word with Floyd. You need to think on your position. You need to put in a formal request for a new guardian. This is permitted as Floyd selfishly jumped off a roof and killed his earthly body. So he opened an option up for us. Take the chance unless you really mean what you say and if you do, do you have the strength to stay loyal to your convictions?' She stood and when Spencer turned to say something, she was gone… a slight smell of lavender was the only way Spencer could tell she'd been there.

o-o-o

Floyd felt fingers under his chin lifting his head up. He opened his eyes expecting to see old green coat's smug face and found himself looking at The Old Woman. He sniffed and raised an eye brow, which caused a cut above his eye to open and start bleeding again.

'Don't talk unless you have to.' She told him and moved her hand away from Floyd's face. 'Can you at least keep your head up and look at me?'

Floyd sucked up the drool which was trying to escape and slowly raised his head again. 'Can you get me out of here?' Oh fuck… he might have sounded more than a tad pathetic then and he'd not intended to beg. 'Or get Spencer out?' He thought about asking for Sam too and then didn't bother. He was only too aware of what they were going to do to Sam. 'I know…' He started, but she placed a finger on his lips.

'Only talk if you have to. Don't bother asking questions you all ready know the answer to. It's a waste of your strength and intelligence, and an even bigger waste of my time. I cannot get you out of here. I cannot get Spencer out of here. I cannot help Sam either. That's not my place. You know that. If you'd come to me and sat on the grass and listened to the river, well then, yes, I could have helped.' She actually sounded a bit angry to Floyd, but everyone sounded angry. His ears were angry. Of course everything he heard was. 'I've spoken to Spencer. He will probably get through this if he makes the right decisions. So far he's showing more backbone and strength than you could. He's not begging and whining and belly crawling. I believe that he's the only one of the trio who hasn't tried that yet.' She paused and as gracefully as a ballerina lowered herself to the floor and sat with her legs out in front of her and her sandaled feet crossed. She smoothed down her caftan and looked up again at Floyd. 'The confessors will come to see you. They will choose their time and they will read out a list of complaints. You will be expected to confess to each. They're not liars. They're not trying to trick you or force you to say something untrue, so if there is something you don't agree with you _must_ voice it. They will listen. They have to listen. They are not permitted to punish a crime if you don't understand the nature of it. That's not what is done. That's not the way things are done.'

'You're preaching to the converted. I lived here, remember? I know how it works and I'm going to do what they want, up to a point. I'll never turn my back on my boys. As long as they understand that then we are fixed and ready to go. Old Woman, I bonded us.' He watched her nod slowly.

'But the bond was broken. The scar is gone.'

Floyd chuckled slightly. 'You think a scar was the bond? That's just the physical sign. It's not needed. It's not necessary. I could have done what I've done in the past and not done it in that manner, but that's not the point. The scar might be gone – for shame! – but the bond is still very much there – Huzzah! You see? I'll never let Spencer down, if I have the ability to. I'm sort of physically tied up… they nailed me to the wall like I'm some beautiful butterfly… or a sacrifice and getting down off of here is a touch difficult, but if I could I'd be roaming the corridors and rooms looking for my boys.'

She pulled a bit of candy out from somewhere under the folds in her caftan and popped it into her mouth. 'You killed Az.' She muttered as she sucked on her purple candy.

'Az was keeping me from my boys. I'm sure they fixed him.' He smiled kindly.

'They fixed him, but death is a corruption in it self, as you well know. They fix, but each time the cracks get bigger. You damaged him.'

'Yeah well he deserved it. Pretty little tart sitting there all hard and hot in his tight red jeans and acting like he didn't know what the fuck was going on in his pants. He's just lucky I didn't fuck him too. Next time I might.'

'You hurt theirs and they'll hurt yours and they know how to hurt you. Get with the game Floyd. Pull yourself out of that arrogant frame of mind and remember that the boys you profess to love are going to die if you don't do some real serious work against it. I can tell you that for now at least, Spencer is reasonably safe. He's in special quarters. They're not interested in hurting him at the moment. They're watching him though. Sam is the one you need to concern yourself about. They will destroy him. They will use him to destroy those dark creatures you so foolishly took up with. They will use him as a sort of prototype weapon. I don't want to see that happen. Really I don't. I would rather live shoulder to shoulder with Them than kill them all. That's not my game.'

'It doesn't matter if they kill Sam. I can create another.' Floyd smirked.

'Not if they've used his genetic code to kill everything even slightly touched by the Dark, and you Floyd my sweet, have been. Think… think carefully. I can heal, forgive, reclaim… you don't need to go via Them…'

'The reception I get from you isn't always too friendly.'

She suddenly bounced to her feet. 'You are a selfish moron Isgar-Quenell. I adore you – I love you – you are like a child to me. You _are_ a child to me. Now I need to go. Think what I've said, Isgar. Think carefully.' She stepped so close that Floyd could see the small red lines in the corner of her eyes. 'Think about apologising. Think about requesting to see Az. Apologise to Az… He, I am sure will be willing to listen to you. He's not available though.'

o-o-o

She stood outside the room and peered beyond the walls with her mind and watched what they were doing to Sam. She had for a while considered going in there and attempting to give comfort, but now she was glad she hadn't. Blood was a bitch and a half to get out of clothing. And there was a lot of blood in there. She could see that he'd been chained to a ring in the floor and the floor like Spencer's walls was covered in symbols of different types and uses. Five of the brothers stood against one of the walls muttering words and throwing herbs, liquids, harsh guttural sounding words and even some sounds which sounded like beautiful song. To some of this Sam just sat and rocked and blubbered like a small child. To other things he screamed and tore at his chest with his finger nails or tried to stuff his hand down this throat… he writhed and screamed and scrabbled around the floor as blood poured from every available place. She shook her head and turned to one of the elders standing there also watching.

'We are no better than Them if we do this. It's barbaric.'

'Old Woman, we are trying to save our people.' He spoke with eyes down, looking at the floor.

'You are doing it because you are bored and find this sort of thing amusing. You, brother, are no better than the thing you're torturing.'

'Old Woman, it screams and writhes and cries, but I have it on good authority that it's just as a machine. The reactions are programmed in. It cannot really feel pain or pleasure. It cannot be hurt in that way.'

She turned to the elder and put a finger on his chest. 'Don't you even _think_ of lying to me.' Her voice stayed gentle and calm, but the expression on her face was not something many people could witness and survive. 'Stop this now. I will not have this going on here.'

'Old Woman – it is to save us. This has been explained to you.'

She shook her head. 'Not this. Never this. What happened to peace and love and tranquillity? What happened Movis? Where has it gone? There is a man locked in a room full of books which he cannot read because his sight is so poor, there is a man nailed – nailed! – to a wall… there is a child being tortured… where is the peace, love, understanding…?'

'That? That's not a child. It's a…'

'Compared to us it is a child. It's a youngster, Movis.'

'A demon!'

She nodded. 'A demon. He really looks very much like he can tear our world apart. They will discover nothing treating him this way. All that will happen is you'll feel the wrath of Isgar-Quenell, and my dear friend, I don't wish that on anyone. Get him out of there. I don't care how, but stop this now. I will return. This situation will have been rectified. I wasn't going to pay a visit to here, but I'm glad I did. I will report this.'

'The enemy.'

'Peace, love, understanding and forgiveness. That's all I know. It's all I want to know. Sort this mess out Movis. I'm not telling you to pamper it, but stop this hideous act.'

She took two steps away from the brother and blinked out of existence for now, again just leaving behind the smell of lavender.

o-o-o

Spencer sat miserably at the desk and looked at the wall in front of him. He'd tried the books. They all seemed to be things about philosophy. Beyond that he had no idea. All he could see was a grey blob in front of his eyes. He had only guessed what they were by the titles printed in lovely bold writing on the front, but even that was fuzzy around the edges. It was frustrating beyond belief that they were there and that he knew that he'd be able to read them so quickly, yet was unable to read one word of them. He pushed a couple of books out of the way and leaned on his elbows on the table. He hoped that Sam was going to be all right. They certainly had their differences, but Sam was Sam and he did like him… he liked Sam a lot actually. Sam seemed to keep the water boiling between himself and Floyd. He needed Sam there. He needed to feel those jealous rushes. He needed that sick feeling in his stomach and that heavy feeling in his head. He wanted to know that Sam was there. It made Floyd wanting him and not Sam so much better. That was probably not a very nice thing to think, but it was somehow true. Spencer liked the battle… the fight to keep Floyd as his. He smiled to himself and them jumped and spun in the chair when he heard the door open. A few people had been in – to deliver food, take food away, bring in drinks – they refused to provide Spencer with cigarettes, but there was a small amount of alcohol. Each time he heard the door open he was convinced beyond all doubt that it was Floyd… again he looked at the stranger with disappointment on his face. It was a young man with a scowl on his face, wearing red jeans and a red top. Spencer gave him a once over and gave him a questioning look.

'I would offer you a drink…' Spencer said.

'I don't drink.' He walked around the room looking at the things drawn on the walls. 'They said it would be good for me to come and see what I died for. I don't really see the reasoning behind such, but here I am. I'm not sure if I'm disappointed or glad that you look so… well so… sick.'

'Do I know you?' Spencer stood up, the questioning look on his face deepened and mixed with the pain it caused just to do a simple thing like standing.

The young man snorted a laugh. 'You know if you had known me I would feel differently about it. I am Az. I was keeping Isgar-Quenell awake with chants and words. I was keeping him away from you.' He shook his head slowly and smiled a big toothy grin and then shrugged. 'I really can't see what it is he sees. He's claimed that you are beautiful… did you know that? He thinks that. I see sick victim who is craving drugs… you wont get any, but I suppose the booze will help quench that need? Isgar-Quenell was described to me as some kind of Siren. He can lure young men to their deaths just by looking at them. I was told not to talk to him. I was told that his voice would… that it would damage me… and he tried and it was wearing me… it was filling me with something I've never felt before.' Az suddenly sat down on Spencer's bed and put his hands in his lap. 'Annoyance mostly. He irritated me and I needed to see his face; look at his face and make sure he didn't sleep. Do you have any idea what that does to someone. Staring into the eyes of that lunatic… those weird red and black eyes… that filth and corruption crawling over the floor… yet…' He paused and rubbed at the side of his neck. '…yet when he turned his back on me, not only did that scare me that he might sleep, but I needed those eyes to be looking into mine. Do you have any idea how that feels?'

'Very much so.' Spencer said. 'There's something very beguiling about his eyes, but his voice…'

'Ah… well… it's not that I was beguiled by either. Not me. I needed to see his face and when I went to him to make him turn and look… he killed me.' Another snort of a laugh. 'How can you devote your life to something who will do that? Entice you, lure you… like a fly caught in a monster's web… why do you remain loyal to such a creature.'

The backtracking and denial amused Spencer to a degree. He was very aware of what Az was talking about, it wasn't just the eyes or the voice… all Spencer had to do was to smell Floyd and all rational thought ended. 'Because I love him.' Spencer replied. 'It's really that simple. I would give my life for him. I would do anything he asked, even if it meant my eternal damnation… which I think I've all ready accomplished.'

'Because you are enchanted by him.' Az spoke softly. 'How do you cope with the feeling in your head?'

Spencer's eyebrows did a small dance. 'Cope with it? What feeling, Az?'

'That swimming sickness. That pulling. Those images I get whenever I close my eyes. How can a man do all of that to me in such a short space of time? I'm not like that. I've never. I'm not sexual.' The last sentence was whispered. 'I need to know how to make these feelings leave.'

'You can't make them leave. But I'm warning you Az not to visit him again.'

'I was going to go and forgive him for killing me.'

This was the most insane conversation Spencer had ever had… well one of the most insane anyway. 'I'd advice against it.'

'Why.' Az stood and walked to Spencer's door.

Spencer didn't answer. He couldn't say that it was because he was feeling so sick that he wanted to scream. He couldn't say that he didn't want Az going to Floyd wearing those tight little jeans with those wide blue eyes. He couldn't tell Az that he was boiling with rage and jealousy. It was easier not to say anything. Once the door had closed, Spencer went to his bed, threw himself down, ignoring the pain, and cried into his pillow.


	15. Chapter 15

15

There are some who will listen and take note of warnings and there are some who think that they know better, or maybe think that they _are_ better than a mortal who has somehow managed to pluck a bit of immortality out of the air for himself. Az might have been confused over the emotions flooding through him, but he was very sure of what he had to do. He was also very sure that Isgar-Quenell was so sick that nothing could be done to pull him back to them.

This didn't stop Az from feeling that burning need to return to Floyd and give him a chance. So there he was standing just inside the door. His back pressed tightly against it. His arms folded lightly over his chest. His eyes wide. He'd never seen the brothers treat one of their own like this before. This was obviously part of the corruption. Part of what this mysterious Isgar-Quenell was doing to them. Rotting their morals and structure from within and he doubted that the generals and elders could even see this.

'See, all you had to do to keep me awake was destroy my hands and nail me to a wall.' Floyd looked up at the thing in red and smirked at him. 'Didn't I kill you at some point? What is it with this lot? Why can't dead be dead, just occasionally?'

'The immortal light shines from within.'

'It's showing.' Floyd tried a genuine smile and flashed his teeth at Az.

Az nodded slowly and tried to look at the stonework behind Floyd, but those eyes, the eyes of the eternally damned kept pulling his focus back. 'I came here to give you forgives for what you did to me.'

Floyd's grin broadened. 'That's nice. But you know it's not necessary because I'm not going to apologise.'

'I still forgive you.' Az wiped at the sweat popping out on his brow. He had to get out of here. That Spencer had been correct. Coming back here was stupid. He could have just written him a letter.

'Nice. Do you have a scroll in your pocket, or are you just pleased to see me? Come here Az… let me smell you. I didn't get a proper chance to sniff you out before. I'm safe. Perfectly safe. What can I possibly do to you now that I'm pinned here like some fucking museum display?'

Az turned his back to Floyd. That was the safest thing to do. Stop looking at him. 'I have offered my forgiveness.' He muttered at the wall. He could feel Floyd's eyes boring into his back and his buttocks clenched as he got ready to run.

'I've not accepted it Az. I don't want your forgiveness. Now take that pretty little arse of yours out of here because I believe that torturing your own is against the rules.' He waited to Az to touch the door handle. 'You dirty little tease. What will your elders and mentors think? Have you been to see Spencer?' Floyd suddenly asked the last in a rush.

Az very slowly turned around. 'He warned me against coming to see you.'

'You should have listened to him. I'm going to haunt you, you little shit. Every time you close your eyes you're going to see me… feel me… taste me.'

A sudden step was taken towards Floyd. 'You disgust me.'

'No, by the look of the happy dance your pants are making, I excite you.'

There were no more words exchanged. Az was gone from the room like a red rocket… he left behind him the smell of a virgin who wanted it so bad… so bad… Floyd thought that Az would do well in hell. The fuck might not have stayed dead, but he'd make sure that his comfortable harp playing pot plant watering life was over. No one keeps him from his boys and gets away with it. Not even wide eyed pretty boys.

o-o-o

Sam was taken from the room. There were complaints that they should be permitted to carry on, but The Old Woman had told them to stop and unless they were given new orders from someone else they had to follow those orders. They attempted to do it without griping or moaning. They kept there blank expressions and held but on the discontent. They thought that they were going to be able to use the creature and find a way to either push back or actually destroy Them, but no, they had been told to stop. They had their orders.

Discussions were had. Decisions made. A secure place to store The Sam was found. It was a long way down inside the under-workings of The Bastion. Deep down where no light ever came unless you brought it with you. It was a place with the protective signs and sigils carved deep into the walls, the floors the ceilings. Deep down as far as you could go was a special place which had been prepared a very long time ago when they'd had reason to keep a creature here before. A far more dangerous creature than Sam and that thing had stayed there until it was a dying skeletal thing with a mind which no longer worked. They cast it out and for all they knew eventually crawled back to its own. They had no interest in what happened to it. It was punished. That was enough. The room was huge. The ceiling here was vaulted. The feeling was hard, oppressive and had a warm raw meaty smell to it. The whole room was a hundred foot across and was circular. Set in to the floor in the middle was an iron grate. This too was circular and it had been pulled up out of place to reveal the hole in the red and white mosaic floor…

For now Sam had stopped screaming. He was crouched on the end of a leash, much like the one Floyd had used and someone was talking to him.

'I'm sorry!' Sam wailed.

'It's not your fault. There is nothing to be sorry about.' A gentle hand touched the top of Sam's head causing him to flinch back and nearly topple over.

'Whatever it was I did, I wont do it again. I promise!'

'It's not a question of what you did or didn't do. The fact is that you are demonic. That isn't your fault.'

'But if it's not my fault, why are you going to put me down that hole in the ground?' Sam wanted to scratch and scratch at his head where he'd been touched, but didn't want to alert them to the discomfort it had caused.

'We don't have to give our reasons.' The collar was removed by the person who was standing at his side. 'It's not the fault of a disease that it has been created as such. We would still see it destroyed or at least put in isolation.'

Sam's brow furrowed. 'I'm sorry.' He whispered. 'Please don't do this. All I've ever wanted was to be loved.' A sad and pitiful voice. He moved so that he was on his knees and clenched his hands in front of him… For a moment he was tempted to do some toe kissing and belly crawling but he thought that might be going a bit far.

The lies wafted around the room like the smell of shit. Sam's muscles were tight and ready to run and kill anything and everything he could get his hands on. He'd not go down that hole and not fight them off first… they knew that. As they pushed him back towards the hole in the floor, his hand snaked out and grabbed hold of one of these motherfuckers… He grabbed his ankle and had actually intended try to drag him down the hole with him.

He felt the foot strike his face and he tipped backwards. His hands went out to grab hold of something and there was nothing there. Nothing… absolutely nothing. Sam did an odd half somersault as he toppled backwards into the hole. Eyes watched. Faces peered over the edge and heads nodded when the scream stopped and the bone shattering smash happened. The grill was replaced. Locked. Guarded with more enchantments. They stood for a while just listening, but for now at least there was nothing to hear. They knew that the fall wouldn't kill him. He was a demon. He could survive a fall of forty feet or so. The room emptied. The light was gone. The door locked and sealed. Maybe in a thousand of their years someone will go back and see if The Sam was still lucid. A job done. The Old Woman would stop her complaining and this at least was as good as killing the thing. Better. He would suffer. And sometimes when they were off duty they might even wander down there and have a listen at the door and they would hear the insane howlings.

o-o-o

Spencer opened his eyes and realised that through all of this horror and mess that he'd actually been sleeping. It had been a sleep devoid of anything but a damp feeling of darkness. He could hear his heart beating. That was all there was though. When he rolled onto his back and blinked at the scrawling on the ceiling, trying to make it not quite so blurry he wondered how long it had been. How long had he been sleeping for? There was no way to tell. There was no clock, no window. No food had been left and the bowl of broth was sitting there with a thin filmy skin over it. It made Spencer's stomach churn and his mouth fill with pre-puking spit. He swallowed back and just lay there staring at the smudged lines and circles above him. When the door opened and footsteps could be heard walking into his room he didn't bother to look and see who it was. It wasn't Floyd. He was now sure that he would have sensed that immediately.

'If you could sit up please and look this way.' A harsh and uncompromising voice snapped at Spencer.

Slowly he turned his head and looked at the five people standing there. Az wasn't one of them. The Old Woman wasn't one of them either. He gave a quick nod and sat on the bed with his back against the wall and his arms wrapped around his shins.

'We are Confessors.' The middle and tallest of them said. It was the same voice which had told him to sit up. 'We have a list here of crimes and you will sit and listen. If you hear something you do not agree with please indicate and we will discuss.' Again Spencer just nodded. 'You have murdered your own.' Spencer immediately put his hand up and shook his head. 'It is written here that you have used firearms fatally against two and have wounded others. Is this a wrong account?'

'It was self defence.' Spencer rightly pointed out. 'I would have been killed if I'd not done that. You must know that.'

'We know that had poor confused and sick Tobias not been shot, that the pair of you would have walked away from that situation.'

Spencer's eyes widened. 'That's not true! I was digging my own grave!'

'Which certainly would never have been used. You murdered the man. You killed your own.'

Spencer opened his mouth to say something and then closed it again and stared at them. Surely they didn't really believe that. Surely they couldn't say that! It had screwed with Spencer's head enough that he'd killed Tobias, and the only way that he'd been able to pull himself through that was to know that his life was under threat. Now they're saying this? 'But…'

'And the other would have been taken out by someone else. It would have resulted in the death of Hotchner, yes, but what gives you the right to take a life?'

'It was my job!' Spencer shouted. 'I was doing my job! That man had been killing innocent people. I was…'

'It was your decision to take a job which would involve these actions. You are not so stupid that you could think that you were trained to use a gun for no reason… surely not.'

Spencer straightened his legs and pushed forwards so his feet were on the floor. 'I…'

'You devoured your own kind.' The voice snapped. 'Knowingly. You might want to deny that too?'

Now Spencer was standing. 'This is ridiculous! Are you saying that I ate people…?'

'You covered up the crimes of another.'

'I…' Spencer sat back down again. 'I… yes, yes I've done that. I have. I wasn't well…'

'So Tobias who was sick and the gentleman at the hospital was certainly sick and they deserved to die, yet you don't? And don't argue that you're already dead. That kind of reasoning has no place here.' A slight pause in which Spencer just took deep slightly panicked breaths. 'There is no question that you've performed acts of indecency with Isgar-Quenell and The Sam who likes to be Sam Trent-Saviour.'

Spencer, who was beginning to feel like a jack in the box, stood up again. 'Now hang on! That's wrong. That's not a crime! Maybe in your eyes it is, but I wasn't here when I was…' He nearly blurted out some explicit details and managed to stop himself again.

The man nodded though. 'Scratch that one. He's correct. We cannot judge a mortal with our code when he didn't know it.'

'Well thank you.' Spencer was tempted to sit again but crossed his arms tightly around his chest instead.

'As I said when I first walked in, I am your Confessor. You can confess to the wrongs, I wont call them sins, sinning is in the eye of the beholder, but they were wrongs… confess to them and we will release you. Give you back your life.'

'And Floyd?'

'He's no longer your concern.'

'Sam?' Spencer took a step towards them. 'What about Sam?'

There were sharp nods going on now and they stood looking at Spencer with great curiosity. 'Interesting. You are very interesting… but not so much that we'd unleash The Sam onto the world again. Confess to your wrongs and you can leave.'

This time Spencer _did_ sit down. 'I'm not leaving without my friends.'

Spencer watched that Mexican wave of nodding heads again. 'Confess.'

'No. I'll confess to nothing.' Spencer pushed back onto the bed, pulled up his feet and wrapped his arms around his shins again. 'I've made that error before. I thought before when you asked me to turn my back on Floyd that it would be the correct thing to do. Never again. Never. I'll not deny my love for him _or_ for Sam. I'll not confess things to you which make no sense. Forget it. I need some glasses though. I can't see to read.'

o-o-o

The talk with Floyd went surprisingly different to how The Confessor had expected. They walked in, lined the wall and stood there with a slightly superior look on their faces… or maybe it was more of an expression of deep loathing.

'I am your Confessor.' Still that harsh unfriendly voice.

Floyd looked up at them and managed to raise an eyebrow. 'Get me off the wall and I'll tell you anything and everything.'

They frowned. They sniffed the air looking for lies. They stepped closer to Floyd and asked him to repeat what he just said.

'Get these things out of my hands, let me sit on a chair maybe, and I'll tell you everything. I'll explain each and every dot of a thing I've done. The whole lot. For your ears only… Offer only available until mid-night tonight… payments via paypal buddy. Hurry.'

'I have no idea what you're talking about.' The dry voice hissed.

Floyd slowly shook his head. 'I had a revelation.' There, that explained everything.

'A revelation about what?'

A long tired sigh from Floyd. 'That if I have a chair and maybe a drink and a smoke… maybe if you tell me what you've done to Spencer and Sam then I'll talk. I'll tell you anything you want to know. I'll confess to things I think maybe were wrong, but not to things I don't think were wrong and I will explain my reasons for all. Keep me here against the wall and you're going to get really bored with my silence very quickly. I know how time drags in this place. I know only too well. So I'll do you a favour and get this mess over with and you'll do me a favour and show me some fucking respect.' The last few words snapped out of Floyd's mouth before he could stop them. 'Or not… maybe…' He added.

The pain as the large hooked spikes were removed from his hands was bad enough for Floyd to shout out and try to bite someone even though he'd sworn to himself that he'd behave. 'You cunts!' He howled and placed two bloody broken hands on his own chest. It was going to be a while before he'd be killing with them; both thumbs and index fingers worked, but the rest were stiff and useless. They would heal, but not yet. He could still pick his nose and scratch his arse though. Not all was lost. They took him by the upper arms and placed him in a chair. It felt as though he was bending in places he shouldn't be. It seemed like a lifetime since he'd been comfortable. They chained his ankles to the chair legs and placed a collar around his neck which was attached to the back of the chair. Taking no chances then… fucks. They gave him a drink. A long wonderful drink of whiskey which was probably hundreds of years old. The flavour swam around in Floyd's mouth and over his tongue and then down his throat where it finally made its happy way to his brain. The smoke was a hand rolled cheroot. The tobacco and herbs had been collected from the forest. The taste made him want to cry with homesickness. Tastes he'd not had in his mouth for so long he couldn't remember. The watering of his eyes was due to the bright light. He blinked away the sharp scratchy feeling behind his eyes and for five beautiful minutes sat and remembered those forest walkways. The unadulterated wonder of the place. The sounds which travelled for mile upon mile. The waterfalls, rainbows… prancing fucking unicorns! He dropped the burning butt onto the floor and ground it out with his bare heel. If it hurt he didn't show it.

'My deep thanks and gratitude.' Floyd spoke clearly, again blinking, but this time to remove the image of rampant unicorns from his mind. 'Shall we get down to business?'

The list of crimes were boring Floyd almost from the get go. 'Murder, abuse, violence, disobedience, acts of treachery and deception. Imbuing of narcotic substances, cannibalism…'

Floyd was waiting for that one and jumped right on it. 'Fuck no… never… and murder? OK Az… I snapped one neck, but that's not why I'm strapped to a chair. I've never fucking eaten my own! I didn't take one damned nibble out of Az and he's actually the first of our own that I've killed. It was necessary! I needed to go back and explain to my boys what was going on. They would have died. I was saving lives!' A small pause. 'The needs of the many – you know?'

'You refused his forgiveness.' It was a statement, not a question, but Floyd answered it anyway.

Floyd wanted to scratch at his neck but he didn't want to risk knocking his fingers on something. 'I couldn't accept it. It would have been false. You must know by now that my loyalties lie totally with my boys. I had to get back to them. I must also point out that little Az was getting hard for me. He got close for the sole purpose of getting a better look at what he was warding. Now don't blame me if the little slut wanted me. That's hardly my fault. You seem to have a habit of matching me with pretty boys. You've not actually gotten the message yet have you? It's like constantly offering a recovering alcoholic a glass of whiskey.'

'Do you confess to violence against your own.'

Floyd bit down on his bottom lip and then slowly nodded. 'I confess that I snapped the neck of Az the Ward. Yes.'

'Do you confess that you sullied the mind and soul of Spencer Reid who you had been sent to Guard?'

'Absolutely not, if you're talking about various sexual acts?' He got a nod. 'Well then, no. He was willing and he was able. Maybe I took advantage of his youth, but he was a fag… I didn't turn him into a queer… surely you don't think that? It's how you're born. It's genetics or some crap like that. You can deny it. You can hide it behind other things… but a fag is a fag… and they like giving and receiving. I should know. Don't you put that on me. You matched me three times with fags. You matched me. I didn't… I wasn't given a long list of names and who I wanted to go to. Was I? Nope. That's your doing.'

'You made a deal with Them.'

Again Floyd nodded. 'Sure. You chucked me out. You threw me to the wastes. What the fuck did you expect me to do? Sit and cry? No. I went and I made deals. Of course I did. I wanted Spencer – Anthony – Little River. I wanted them. I took them. I disposed of them when I was told to. That wasn't anything bad! I just took them further than you had expected. They didn't die when you thought. I wouldn't kill them when you ordered me to!'

'Calm… please calm.' The rough voice spoke over Floyds shouts. 'We never would tell you to stop Guarding or to kill who you were sent to guard. Natural ends come to everyone.'

'Fuck you!' Floyd shouted again. 'You mixed up crazy motherfuckers! You do that to me over and over again… what do you tell me? "Earn your place. Prove that you are not what they say you are." And I say I will. I can do that! I can fucking do that! How many have I guarded? More than those three… how many? You must have it written down there somewhere? And I sit and I guard and I watch and keep them safe until you call me off… until they've done what you wanted… reached their personal goal and then I'm pulled back again… over and over a fucking gain! But those three… I made mistakes, I made big mistakes.'

'You made deals to take those three beyond their intended span.'

'I kept them alive!' This was an ear splitting howl.

'You made deals with the dark ones.'

'To keep them alive!' Again Floyd shouted so hard he thought he'd done permanent damage to his vocal chords.

'You consigned them to the oblivion of hell.' That fucking arsehole with the rough voice replied.

'Fuck! Fuck you! Fuck you and your fucking rules! Fuck you all! Yes I made deals. I made them to keep me alive. I made them to keep the people I loved alive…'

'You are not capable of love.'

'ARG!' It actually came out sounding like that - _ARG_. They just didn't understand! They had no comprehension of what happened or why, because _they_ were the ones incapable of love. How could they possibly understand how it would feel? 'Why do you think I risked my life by killing Az? Why did I do that if not to help the ones I love? Can't you see that? Can you really not understand what someone does when they're desperate? Your own salvation suddenly means nothing. It really doesn't have a meaning. If you actually had real emotions you'd perhaps understand, but you're an empty vessel. You couldn't possibly understand what it feels like to think that you've lost the things most important to you in life. I thought that never seeing the Forest again was bad… It nearly killed me. It fucking nearly killed me! But I kept going… I was given chances… you let me have chances, but they were tricks. They were false. You fuckers _wanted_ me to fail. You wanted to see me squirm and get another black mark by my name. You wanted me to feel those murderous rages and those empty fucking deep empty times when nothing seemed to make sense unless I was hurting what I loved. You enjoyed every fucking moment because you didn't want me back. You fuckers! And now you sit me here and ask me to confess? Yes. I did it! I ate people. I tore out their hearts and livers and offered their souls to THEM… sure I did. Get so many souls under my belt and I get a prize. What do you lot offer? Nothing. Fucking nothing but endless fucking torment! And I thought you were the good guys! Fuck me sideways and call me Abdul, was I wrong.'

'I asked you to be calm. Shouting will get you nowhere.'

'Makes me feel better.' Floyd muttered. His throat hurt but that was nothing compared to the absolute rage he was feeling. It was bubbling up inside of him and filling him with something which was making his muscles twitch and his teeth grind. 'So you know my situation. What happens next?' There was a slight wobble in his voice which he hoped they'd put down to pain rather than the anger. He took long deep breaths and tried to give the appearance that he was again relaxing.

'Spencer…' The bastard rubbed his hands together. 'I am afraid that his contract is up. He was beyond his dates as you well know. 'I can arrange to have him sent back but he unfortunately will never live beyond 29 years. It's just not possible. There is no happy ever after for him. But you are aware of that.'

'I'm aware of that. It can be changed?'

Ah… at last. The sound of desperation. At last the chink in his arrogant armour was showing. 'It can be changed.'

'How many extra years can you give him?'

'Now that depends. We will have to negotiate it and put forward a deal… it will cost. It will be very costly.'

Floyd nodded. 'You want my life for Spencer's? You can have it. Take it now, but let him go. Give him back what he had. Let him live a long happy life – alone.'

The voice laughed. 'We don't want your life Isgar-Quenell. We cannot take the life of our own. You _know_ that. As much as I dislike the matter, you are one of us. And so we will have to offer someone, or something else. Just need your word. Just one word.'

'Sam? You want me to give over Sam? You want my permission to kill him and in return you'll extend the contract on Spencer?'

The room was full of smiling faces. Understanding faces. The faces of people who were going to die… just as soon as Floyd's hands were better. 'I need to consider this.' Floyd spoke down at his lap and at the same time willed his hands to heal… ASAP please and thank you very much! He had a plan. It involved killing everyone. He wasn't sure it was a good plan, but it was the sort he liked. Too much planning is a sure fire way to mess up. Loose… lovely and loose… that's how he liked it. At least for his plans. Other things he liked nice and tight. He thought of that pretty arse Az had waggled at him and then of Spencer… No competition there. Spencer would win every damned time. He allowed himself to smile.

He pictured the blood and the mayhem. He could see in his mind's eye, the three of them, the eternal warriors, himself, Spencer, Sam… standing surrounded by mutilated corpses. It would of course end any chance of ever making good with this lot, but Floyd was now wondering if these were actually the good guys after all.

The door banged. Floyd looked up and glared at Az who was standing there… those _fuck me_ eyes peering at him. Floyd didn't give him a chance to speak. He raised his chin and howled at him. 'What the fuck do _you_ want? What are you doing here stinking the room up with your carnal desires? I don't want to fuck you! I don't want your mouth on my dick! Get the fuck out of here you dirty little whore! I don't want you! Stop trying to drag me down to your filthy fucking level. Go fuck off and have a wank! Get out! Get the fuck out of here!'

It worked. Az turned and bolted from the room again. It was a good thing. If Floyd hadn't been trying to concentrate on his hands he'd have been over there raping that darling slut before you could say... _Bang me till I bleed._ Oh and he would have done too. Floyd's face twitched a smile and he looked back down at his lap and thought of his hands again. This is what happens when you are the god of fuck. Those tarts just wont leave you alone.

o-o-o

The Old Woman held out Spencer's eyeglasses. She saw the slightly shaking hand take them. She could see the way he'd been scratching at his arm. She could see the dark circles under Spencer's eyes getting darker; like purple bruises. It saddened her to see him this way. Even and old woman can recognise beauty and she could see the trail of drugs and abuse all over Spencer.

'You are coping?' She asked him as she sat on the chair in front of the desk.

Spencer shook his head and sighed. 'Not really, no. I'm being held prisoner in a room with no natural light. It's not good for… for me.' He slipped the glasses on.

'It will stop you shaking?' Was that a genuine question? Spencer didn't know. His mind was a muddle.

'It wont stop me shaking, but it will maybe clear my head.'

'I will take you to the roof. I will let you look at The Forest, will that help?'

Spencer nodded slowly. Anything to get him out of this room. Anything. 'I think so.'

She didn't look so sure. To Spencer it almost felt as though she was delving into his head and reading his mind… not that there was much of any interest there. The Old Woman stood and walked over to Spencer who was sitting slightly slumped on the bed. 'I will take you up to see The Forest and I will take you to see Floyd, but before you get too excited, I cannot under any circumstances release him or allow you to. Do you understand me?' She leaned in so close to Spencer now that her forehead was touching Spencer's. 'I need you to see and hear something first. I could just repeat it, but I think you need to hear it properly.' She lifted her hands to either side of Spencer's head and pressed her fingers against his skull. What happened was more than just a vision. It was as though he was there, standing behind a slightly misty barrier, but there… he could smell it, and feel the temperature change and he could hear Floyd's voice. She didn't show all of what had happened. It would do no good to let Spencer know that his life span was so short. But she let him hear that Floyd had offered his life for him… and Spencer felt hot prickles of escaping tears digging at the back of his eyes. He pushed the hands away from his head and shuddered.

'I'll take you to him, but you have to dissuade him from taking any _reckless_ action. I would like you to get him to say _goodbye_ to you. Can you do that?'

Spencer now stood up and gave The Old Woman an infuriated glare. 'No. NO!' He raised his voice to her. 'No… I'm not going to do that. I want things back as they were. I want to live in my apartment and have my job and have Floyd at home… doing what Floyd does! I want Sam around. I want to go on vacation with them. I want… I want… I want to be happy! I want Floyd! I want everyone to quit interfering with our lives. Let us live and stop… just stop getting in the way of our happiness. And don't tell me that you don't do that because every damned time we feel settled and happy something comes along to mess it up!'

The slap across Spencer's face was such a shock that he took two steps back and covered the burning hot place on his face with his hand.

'Don't you raise your voice to me. Who do you think you are? You have no right to make demands. I am only trying to help you because I have such a fondness for Floyd. Don't even _think_ of talking to me like that again. You'll not know what hit you.'

Spencer was very sure that she was not kidding him. Slowly he lowered his hand again. 'I'm sorry. I'm just so tired of being pushed around. I just want to live a long happy life with Floyd and Sam and…'

'It's not going to happen unless you follow the rules.'

'I don't _know_ the rules.'

She gestured at the bed. 'Sit. I'll explain them to you. They're really very simple. It's the sub clauses and sections and the amendments which cause all the problems. Those are the things Floyd uses to his advantage. He's a very intelligent being. He could have been so much… so very much, but there's no point in trying to change what he is. We can't change him. We have to learn to live with him.'

Spencer understood that totally. He gave her a small wan smile and flopped onto the bed again. 'The rules?'

'Ah yes… You will do what I tell you, when I tell you. You will not wander from the path you are told to take. The path might sometimes be boring and it might seem to stretch on for miles with nothing but the occasional pebble to make the journey interesting, but you must never step off that path and try to find a short cut.'

Ok… riddles and metaphors again. Not something Spencer found easy to get his head around. 'So life is the path… and my life might be boring but it's what I make it? Trying to change things and cheat by taking a short cut…'

She clapped her hands together making Spencer jump… 'There be monsters in those woods. Don't think you can outsmart something which has been around for longer than you can imagine. Follow the path. Follow the path to the end. That's your destiny.'

'I understand.'

She shook her head. 'No, I don't think you do, but never mind. You asked for the rules… you don't want interference? Don't come crawling on your belly when things go wrong.' These words were hissed at Spencer. 'Now go and persuade that fool of a lover of yours not to do what he has planned unless… well unless he knows exactly what the consequences are.'

'Can I ask you one more thing?' She gave a signal to go ahead but be quick. 'Sam? What about Sam?'

'That is something I wish to talk to Floyd about. I will tell you both.' She walked to the door. 'With me.' She put a hand out and Spencer placed his in hers. Her grip was surprisingly vice like.

o-o-o

Spencer didn't want to break into a run when he saw Floyd sitting tied to the chair. He wanted to walk over to him and remain calm… but all calm left Spencer in one big gut wrenching flood as he raced over the floor and dropped to his knees in front of Floyd. He put his hands on Floyd's knees and looked up at the tired defeated looking face. The last bit of calm floating around in Spencer disappeared.

'My god, what have they done to you?' One hand fluttered over one of Floyd's. The holes in his hands were bloody and raw.

'Hey Babes!' Floyd tried a happy voice which didn't work too well. 'Are you OK… Damn you look hot in your glasses. Eyes giving you trouble? Do you have everything you need?'

Spencer moved closer to he was held now between Floyd's knees. His hands moved quickly over Floyd's damp sweaty chest and up to his neck and over his face. 'I'm fine. Fine. I just needed to see you.' His voice wobbled and he took in a long sobbing breath. 'I don't understand what's going on. What they want. What I need to do. I don't know.'

'Give me a kiss.' Floyd now tried a smile, but that didn't really work either. 'I need to exchange fluids with you.'

Spencer put his hands on Floyd's shoulders and pushed himself up. He gave Floyd a long deep toe curling kiss and then moved back slightly away. 'I have to talk to you. I need you to promise something.'

'Kiss my hands better first? Please? I want to feel your lips on my hands.' It was an odd request, but Spencer nodded and gave each of Floyd's hands a quick peck with his lips. They tasted raw. It was like kissing a bag of rusty nails. The taste was disgusting. 'A bit more. Just a bit more, Spence, then talk to me. I'll see if I can make you a promise.' So Spencer's mouth kissed those nasty broken hands again and this time Spencer felt them twitch and move under his slightly swollen lips. Again he moved back.

'I need you to do what they want.' Spencer said to Floyd.

'Absolutely no. Can't do that. They want something I'm not ready or willing to part with.'

Spencer bit down on his bottom lip and glanced behind himself at The Old Woman standing there watching. 'I need you not to do anything reckless. Please. Don't do something you can't take back later. I know you're angry.'

Floyd shook his head slightly. 'It's not anger I feel. I admit that I _was_ angry, but not now. Not any more. I'm so far beyond angry, Spence, that there are no words to describe it. They've got Sam locked up somewhere. Find out where. The Old Woman wont tell me.'

She moved forwards slightly. 'You've not asked.' She spoke softly. 'He's being held in The Pit.'

Floyd shook his head as though trying to remove a nasty something from his hair. 'Great… Fucking great! Spencer, I can't promise you that I'll not try to get out of here and kill things. Is that what wanted me to promise? That I'd not seek retribution? That I'd not find a way to stomp these mother fuckers into the ground? Are you crazy? Are you? I can't promise that. I thought for all of my existence that these where the good guys. I really thought that, but all this fucking time I was wrong! These cunts are the ones who destroy and take… and fucking take! They wont leave me to be in peace. They wont let me! They wont accept that I need you, want you.' He paused and looked at Spencer with his weird eyes. The whites were now speckled with red… at least it wasn't solid colour now. 'I've got to have you.' He growled at Spencer. 'And I'm going to have you. These fucks are not going to stop me. Understand?'

'Please…?'

A shake of the head again. 'You want me to leave them to tear Sam apart? You want that to happen? You want to die? You want…'

His little speech was interrupted. 'That's enough.' The Old Woman snapped. 'Quite enough.'

Floyd looked over Spencer's shoulder at her. 'You must help Sam. You must get Spencer out. You have to do this. You say you love me, then do this for me.'

'I am doing all I can.' She smiled at Floyd and walked over so that she was standing almost in front of him. Floyd thought for a moment that she was going to knock Spencer out of the way and climb onto his lap and let him suckle her! The thought was rather horrifying. She ran her hands over Floyd's and kissed him gently on the forehead. 'Killing your own will be something you will never be forgiven for.'

'They'll never forgive me anyway.'

'I know.' She patted him on the side of his head. 'Corruption abounds.' She whispered into his ear. 'This place has been standing against evil for so long that it's seeped in through the cracks. Do what you have to do Floyd. If you can accept that forgiveness will never be there for you. If you can accept that they will come after you with as much wrath as the hounds of hell.' Her hand slipped the collar Floyd had around his neck off. 'I have a silly old woman's trust in you.' Slowly she moved away. 'Killing Az was wrong. He is harmless. Don't waste your time and energy on his sort.'

Floyd stared at her with a confused expression. 'I wish you'd talk straight to me.' He muttered.

'That's as good as it's going to get. Do what has to be done. I will defend you if I see you again. Spencer? Time to leave.'


	16. Chapter 16

16

'I am breaking every rule, but as I was the one to make quite a lot of them in the first place I don't think there's much they can do about it.' The Old Woman grasped Spencer's hands and looked at him closely. 'I can remove you from here. Take you somewhere safe.'

Spencer looked completely baffled as they stood in the cool gloom of an empty corridor. 'Just show me where my room is. There's so many twists and…'

She shook her head. 'Not what I meant, Spencer. I can take you back to where we usually meet. I can keep you safe.'

Spencer tore his hands out of her grasp as he shook his head. 'I'm not leaving without Floyd and Sam.' He went to turn but she pulled him back to face her.

'There is going to be trouble. I don't want you in the firing line. Once the flood gates open here, I don't know what's going to happen. I can see future – but not here. I can't let you stay. Please. Don't make me force you. Floyd needs to stay here. Sam I cannot help. It's best you forget him.'

Spencer rubbed at his eyes with his fingertips and spoke quietly. 'If there is to be trouble, then I want to be here. I want to stand at Floyd's side and…'

Again she cut him off. 'And die at his feet? You want that? Once the rules begin to fall apart and they decide that they need a weapon, they will use you. They _will_ destroy you. You are already dead, Spencer. Where do you think you will go if you die here?'

Deep frown lines appeared between Spencer's eyes. 'I… I don't know…'

'Love, Obedience and Forgiveness. The three things which should make up this existence. Forgiveness is a great healer, Spencer. Now you must come with me and let Floyd play his part in this little game. You will be safe. Time…'

'I'm sorry to disappoint you, but I'm not going to run hiding and listen second hand to what happens to Floyd. You said these people wont kill their own. That's why Floyd is still alive.' He watched her nod. 'Then… then he surely…'

Spencer felt hot spots of anger on his face when she once again cut him off. 'But he's already killed one. So obviously that rule is simply one of moral code. It's not an impossibility. May The Light help us if that's the truth. I'm relying on Floyd's destructive nature to complete this.'

'You set him up? You planned this? You want some sort of revolution to take place? You _want_ Floyd to kill and be killed?'

'On the very lowest levels of The Bastion is a circular room. In the middle is a metal grate covering what looks to be a well in the floor. Sam is there. I can't get him out. If you want to help Floyd and if you truly want Sam, I would wait until the trouble starts. Go get Sam. You'll need rope. You'll need a lot of luck, but you can bypass the wards. There will be no guards, just enchantments. Be careful.'

Spencer narrowed his eyes at her. 'And how to I get to the lowest levels?'

She gave a small shrug. 'By taking the stairs. Really Spencer you need someone to tell you everything?' She snatched up his had and started to drag him along the corridor. It opened up into a small room, but they stopped just short of it. 'The door in the east wall. Take it. The stairs go down to the very bowels of The Bastion. There is a guard at the door now. You wont get by him. Wait until the alarm horn sounds and then go and keep going. Once you have Sam…' She placed a small purple bit of candy in Spencer's hand. '…suck on this. I will come for you. For now go to your room.' And now she was dragging Spencer away again and back down the corridors and around corners and up and down stairs… 'Remember the way back.'

'Right.' Spencer had placed the candy in his pocket. 'Sure.'

'Sarcasm… nasty trait that you picked up from Floyd. It doesn't suit you. Wait for the horn…' She looked at Spencer with undisguised despair. 'Don't get yourself killed here. Stay safe. Death here is eternal… unless you're one of us, and Spencer you are not. Your immortality only goes so far. Don't abuse it.' She pushed open the door to his room. 'Sorry… no time to show you the Forest – I hope you understand what you have to do.'

'Get Sam.'

'Super. And then what?' She smiled at Spencer.

'Suck on the candy.'

'Great. Don't hang around waiting for Floyd. He'll make his own way to me. Go rest for now.'

'Where do I get rope?' Spencer asked as he entered his room again.

She patted Spencer on the arm. 'I can see why he likes you so much. You're very loyal. I used to think it was because you were like a kicked dog or a battered wife, but it's more than that isn't it? The rope is already provided. Under your bed.'

'Much more than a kicked dog. I will do what I can.'

'And once you've done what you can you will reach out and go beyond. You have to go further and do better than what you think you can do. The end result will be worth it.'

And in a blink she was gone.

'Damn.' Spencer muttered and closed the door with a barely audible _click_.

o-o-o

A Spencer paced his room wondering firstly if he could find his way back to the door he'd been shown, and secondly how long he was going to have to wait and if whether Floyd would come for him… Floyd was sitting irritably on the chair slowly clenching and unclenching his fists. He knew he played on The Old Woman's team for a reason. His hands were tingling like the worst case of pins and needles but he managed to loosely link the collar back on again. Nothing he couldn't just rip off when needed. It was the chains on his ankles he was going to have the problem with. They were firmly secured into place and no amount of Floyd's fiddling with them was going to make them magically click open and clatter to the floor. No… he needed someone who he could trust to make that request of.

Floyd ground his teeth and flexed his toes. He knew who he was going to have to ask, but he really didn't want to and hadn't The Old Woman told him to leave Az alone? Floyd bit down gently on his lips and looked at the door. He could hear nothing. It was like the place had been abandoned.

He did it quickly. Just a quick buzz… a blast… _Come to me_ – from Floyd's head to Az. Now all he could do was wait and hope that Az had no will power, or was at least curious enough to wonder what a man tied to a chair could possibly want. The result wasn't instantaneous, but it was pretty damned close! Floyd looked up as the door quietly opened and then closed and Az stood there in his tight jeans, but a thigh length tunic top on rather then the shirt he'd been wearing earlier. The boy was learning. Not fast enough, but he was slowly getting there. Floyd thought it was a good sign. There was still hope. He didn't smile at Az. That would have freaked the poor creature out and sent him running, but he spoke quickly and quietly to him.

'I accept your forgiveness if you'll accept my apology.' Oh for the gods! That was painful to have to say. Floyd hoped that the horrible taste it left in his mouth didn't show too much.

Az didn't move. He crossed his arms over his chest and stood with his back to the door and his eyes on the floor. 'Thank you.' He whispered. 'I accept your apology.'

'Az… Az… please I need to talk to you about something. Come closer I don't want the whole of The Bastion to hear our business.'

A shake of the head from Az. 'This is as close as I want to get to you, and I don't want to hear your business.'

'Just a bit closer? I'm not going to hurt you. That's a promise. I'll not lay a finger on you. Please, come closer. I have to talk to you and I'd like it to be less… I don't know… public?'

The young man nodded slowly. 'Not within touching range.' He still spoke in a low whisper. He was scared. Floyd could tell that much, but the command for him to come here had over ridden that. Floyd thought that as long as he could keep focused this might actually turn out OK. Az came to within five foot of Floyd and then on impulse went down onto his knees. Oh Floyd liked this. He liked it very much. 'How can I help you?'

Floyd kept his hands very still. He took deep breaths and let them out slowly. 'You're a ward?' Az nodded. 'You know what the protections are down at The Pit?' Again a nod. 'Can I get by them?'

'My Lord…' Oh that made Floyd grin! At last! Someone who recognised his greatness. 'I don't think that would be possible. They are protections against The Dark. It would sense you and…' He looked up at Floyd and shook his head. '… you would be stopped.'

'Could Spencer get through them?' Floyd now leaned forwards slightly.

'My Lord? Spencer? I don't know.' He paused and thought about this odd questions. 'Actually no. They protect against unwanted visitors – as such – and Spencer isn't one of… well of _Us_. He might get as far as the lower corridor, and maybe to the door, but no further. The room wouldn't permit his access.'

'Can it be over ridden? Quick. We don't have a lot of time here. Can it be cancelled out or dulled or something?'

Az blinked and nodded. 'But only if there is someone there with him to cancel the wards and even then it would cause extreme pain. Surely Spencer's not thinking of attempting to rescue The Sam? He'd not reach there. He wouldn't even get past the first guard.'

'Do you have permission to go down there?'

'No. No one will have access for a hundred years. Then it will be restricted.'

'OK' Floyd sat back again and rested his head against the back of the chair. 'This is what I need you to do…'

'Me?' Az looked perfectly horrified.

More deep breaths… stay calm… stay calm… 'Chaos will soon break out of where it has been lurking.' Floyd watched Az's head snap back to look over his shoulder. 'Not yet… wait… listen to me.' He waited for Az to turn to look at him again and then carried on. 'The Horn will be blown. When that happens, when chaos begins, you need to go somewhere with Spencer and help him.'

'My Lord? Please don't involve me in some plan. I'm just a ward. I have no power over anyone. The punishment I will receive if I do something against them is so great that there are no words to describe it. I will probably end up in The Pit myself. Please don't ask me to do this.'

Floyd ignored him. 'Go with Spencer and protect him against the wards. Help him through.'

Az shook his head. 'I don't know that I'm powerful enough to do that.'

'You kept me awake. That's some power you have Az. Don't belittle yourself by pretending it's not. The other thing I need is these off my ankles. Undo the wards holding them there. Your reward will be me being forever in your debt.'

'I don't want you to be forever in my debt. You are full of corruption and dark. I will do what you ask but only because I believe in my heart that you're being honest with me.'

'Good…. Not forever in your debt… I'll take that back. I'll not kill you though and if I can and if I see it… I will protect you. That's good huh? And all you have to do is release me and then help Spencer release Sam. Two small things. Tiny things in comparison to what I'll do to you if you don't do what I want.'

Az sighed.

o-o-o

Sam lay on his back staring up at nothing. There was nothing to see. There was plenty to feel though. It felt as though there were a million things crawling around inside of him, slowly pulling him back together again. The sticky bloody mess he was laying in was slowly drying, adhering his back to the stone floor. He could feel his smashed bones knitting back together again… his teeth which had shattered when he hit the floor were pushing out of his gums and re-growing… the place on his head which had crumpled inwards and spilt all sorts of horrors onto the stone around him was pushing back and tingling and itching like crazy. His chest was still sunken and wrong but his heart was beating and he could breathe again and those ribs were twitching and bending back into place. He felt as though he'd been run over by a train.

That wasn't all though… not only was the dark silence oppressive, but there seemed to be an invisible physical weight bearing down on him. He wiggled his toes and twitched his fingers and blinked at the nothingness. Or maybe there was something there but he just couldn't see any more. He wanted to feel his face and check the damage there, but he was too scared of what he would find all the time his bones were coming back to how they should be. There was a small glimmer of hope though, that his eye would come back all lovely and fixed. He let out a small wailing cry of distress and felt tears running down the side of his face. He opened his mouth and howled like a dog and then broke out into sobs. Sam felt around inside his mouth with his tongue. He spat out the bits of broken teeth and ran his tongue over the tiny sharp new teeth popping out through his sore bleeding gums. It was agony. Pure and simple. Nothing should be allowed to be in this much pain and still be alive. He didn't deserve this. He was going to get better and climb out and kill the fucks who'd done this to him and then he'd use his lovely new teeth to eat and eat and eat until he puked.

And then he'd eat his puke.

o-o-o

Floyd stood, stretched and waggled his fingers. The Old Woman had worked her magic even if she'd said she'd not. She certainly had a weak spot for Floyd, or maybe she wanted to make sure that he did what he needed to do. Sometimes you had to break a few eggs… blah blah blah, and Floyd planned on making a mother fucking _huge_ omelette today. He wanted to give Az enough time to prepare anything he needed to. For reasons Floyd didn't have a clue about, he trusted Az. Maybe when you killed someone you automatically could make them do what the fuck you wanted. They became your puppet? It was an interesting idea and considering all the things he'd killed he'd have a huge puppet army available if he wanted to call on it. He padded barefoot to the door and placed his fingertips on the cool brown wood. This was not a skill given to him as a Guardian. These were things he'd picked up along the way from darker places than here. They seemed to be working quite fine though. He could feel nothing untoward about the door. There seemed to be no magic and no vibrations. It was unlikely it would explode if he opened it. Firstly though he just stood and listened. For now it was silent. It wouldn't be like that for long if things went the way Floyd wanted them too. He cracked his knuckles, feeling only a slight warning of pain in his hands and grabbing the door-handle, pulled it open.

The hand on his chest pushing him back was such a shock that he let it happen. He stumbled back a few paces and the door slammed shut again. This time with someone in the room with him. Floyd was about to pounce when the person held out a bundle of pale blue fabric. 'You can't just go out there like that. You'll not make it to the end of the passage.' This helpful person said. 'Just put these on over the top and cover your head. You're very distinctive.'

Floyd snatched the things from this tall hawk like man. 'And who in the name of fuck are you? And what do you know?'

'You don't need my name, but I know enough. Quickly. We are not all against what is going on here, but enough are. The word will get around quickly enough if the wrong words reach the wrong ears. I don't want involvement with death. That's not to do with me, but I'll assist you where I can to get rid of the evil which has been soaking into some of the elders for centuries. It sickens me. It sickens me that it's come to having to trust you to do the dirty work. I suppose you've been given a new job.' He stood now and watched Floyd pull the blue robe on over his head. There was a hood too which he pulled up.

'I feel like a fucking fool.' Floyd commented.

'You'd feel like a bigger fool if you failed before you even started. Here…' He handed Floyd a small token. 'Keep that with you. It will dull your aura. Make it harder for them to sense you coming. And this.' Now a sword in a scabbard was passed to him. 'A relic – use it wisely and make sure this is done quickly. I know you've already recruited Az. It was he who gave me the token. Don't for any reason lose either of those things. They're not yours. They are on loan. Now go. Shelton is in the library. I would leave now. Once this starts the quakes will probably destroy this place. We are putting our lives in your hands.'

'Oh fucking shut up! I'm not some bleeding heart hero. I'm going to kill who I have to and then get my boys and leave. I'm not doing this for you or your buddies. I personally think you're all as bad as each other. You're all fucking self serving arseholes. But that's my opinion. Are you sure I have to wear this?' He quickly buckled on the sword and put the token in a pocket. 'How do I know I can trust you?'

'I would have sounded an alarm. What would be the point in me arming you if I didn't want this to work?' The man now stood out of the way and nodded at the door. 'I wish you a fast hand and an even faster whit.' He bowed and gestured at the door. 'Maybe we'll meet again on the green.'

'And maybe not.' Floyd muttered. He hated having to show gratitude to someone. 'Thanks, I guess.' He pulled the door open again and walked out into an empty corridor. Now all he had to do was remember where the library was. He turned a circle in the corridor and frowned in one direction and then the next. A hand touched his elbow. It was hawk man again. 'Left. Up the stairs. Two flights. Across…'

'Across the hallway door straight a head.' Floyd muttered. 'I know. I was just…'

Hawk man let go of his arm. 'We are relying on you.' He hissed, turned and left.

'Well fuck you. Maybe I don't want to risk my life for an ugly fuck like you.' He said his words quietly and under his breath as he walked with his head down towards the stairs. He did want to risk his life for beautiful lovely _lick me till I scream for mercy_ Spencer though. With his eyes still down and a grin on his face he walked to the foot of the stairway he needed to use.

'Restricted access.' A fat wheezy voice spoke. Floyd looked from where it was coming from and saw a very short round thing with a yellow tuft of hair on the top of his head. He was about four foot tall and two hundred pounds of sweaty interference.

'You going to stop me?' Floyd spoke trying to avoid eye contact. He licked his lips and almost hoped he'd have an excuse to rip out a throat.

'No… just saying. It's restricted. Not many up there. Shelton and his cronies. Four of them. That's all. It's restricted.'

Floyd did now look at him and give him a puzzled face. 'You're stopping people from going up there?'

'Obviously. Didn't I just say… It's restricted.' The fat blob gave a small wink and wriggled to the side. 'You'll not be disturbed. The passages from the next level are closed. The Library has no other exit. I have ten minutes at the most… then restrictions will have ended.'

Floyd nodded and stepped past the thing sitting there. This was one of the strangest situations Floyd thought he'd ever been in. He thought he was going to rip, tear, rend… blood flying… intestines dangling… bones cracking… from the get go, but these _brothers_ seemed to want him to do this. It was like…

Well Floyd was feeling like he was some kind of sacrifice.

And he liked it.

Holding up the hem of his tunic, he bounced up the stairs feeling vibrant and over confident. He was doing this for his boys. He was doing this because he loved them… at least he loved Spencer… he thought he loved him. That churning in his stomach and the thumping of his heart wasn't _always_ food poisoning. Sometimes it was just looking at Spencer reading… or watching him drink his coffee… or greeting him when he came in from work all tired and sweaty… yeah… it was those little things.

Did he love Sam?

Yes, he supposed he did. But it wasn't the churning, sickening, feeling which made his brain feel tight and his fingers and toes tingle. With Sam it was a different sort of love. More like… well admiring a gold fish, or thinking a puppy is cute. He liked having Sam around because Sam was Sam… and there needed to be no other reason.

He moved across the landing at the top of the first flight and looked around at the emptiness. Someone was going to come along and realise there was evil afoot. It's was going to happen soon too. Floyd could feel it in his water.

The sudden need to have a piss was distracting. He didn't want to get into a fight and need a pee. He pulled his tunic and peed up the wall. Was someone going to come and catch him being a naughty boy? Nope! This area was restricted! HA!

More caution was taken now though. He knew how well sound travelled and was glad for one of the first times in his life that he had nothing on his feet. He moved with one hand resting on the hilt of the sword and the other brushing gently against the wall always concentrating, feeling for anything wrong… a cold spot, a warm spot, a place which vibrated or just had the wrong feel to it. He sniffed at the air and after fifteen treads he knelt on the landing which came out onto the hallway and those fingertips touched the floor.

Floyd was no coward. But he really did like it better when the odds were stacked in his favour. He wasn't sure that they were. Standing by the doorway was a brother in white robes. He was holding a book in his hand. A small red book. He held it out towards Floyd and cocked his head as though to ask if he wanted it. Curiosity forced Floyd to walk over and speak into the brother's ear. A small low whisper… more like words which drift out when you breathe. 'What's the fucking book for?'

'A reason to be in there?'

He snatched it out of the brother's hands. 'Get the fuck out of here. Go.' A quick nod from yet another helpful person and he was gone. The brother raced back down the stairs in the direction Floyd had come from. There was a small jingle of hope that he'd slip in the piss. No time to follow and watch. He made sure that the hood was in place.

_Not happy about the hood. I can't see properly_… The thoughts were there, but so was the hood. For now he kept it on. Floyd guessed that when the killing started, a silly hood wouldn't be necessary. He pushed open the doors to the library and walked in.


	17. Chapter 17

17

The library was a square room with two hundred foot of shelving on three walls. The forth which had the doors leading in had display cabinets and ancient books which no one was allowed to touch any more. There were rows of books to each side… a wide corridor area going down the centre had tables and lushly padded leather chairs, lamps shone brilliantly on each of the long tables. Stairs in each of the four corners of the room led up to the balcony on the next level… tall silently wheeled ladders stood against the shelves. The ceiling was vaulted and it amused Floyd to see the paintings up there… paintings of angels languishing amongst the clouds.

What a fucking sense of humour the artist must have had!

Immediately in front of the doors was a large, curved stone desk. The brother sitting behind it gave Floyd a small glance and then he looked back down at whatever it was he had in front of him. A small delicate looking hand beckoned Floyd over. This wasn't who he'd come to kill. This was some withered and very old librarian. Floyd walked over and placed the book on the desk. There was some automatic reason here. It's like a long term Catholic having to dip into holy water when going into a church for the first time in fifty years. It's just inbred. The lined and pale skinned hands of the old brother ran a finger over the book and muttered something. 'Upper balcony. Please don't make a mess.' He pushed the book back, got up and left. Now the place suddenly stopped feeling like something wondrous and began to feel much more like a trap. The smells of old paper and leather had suddenly gone to be replaced by one of dirt and sweat. It was only a moment later that Floyd realised that the smell was coming from himself, but even further away there was another smell… not of the library but of something damp and slithery.

He left the book on the desk and walked towards the stairs, which spiralled around and took you up onto the next level, which was a balcony looking down onto the main library. Up here were books which were less likely to be used. Most of them contained maps of places which no longer existed or hadn't yet been created. Shelton… the mark, was up on that level. Floyd again kept one hand next to the hilt of the sword and the other on the cool stone wall and walked in almost total silence to the next level.

The air up here stank. It was like fifty people had been up here breaking wind all day. It was almost enough to make Floyd's hair turn curly and sizzle his nasal hairs. He stood in the dim opening to the upper level and steadied his breathing. He needed to decide who it was he was doing this for. Was it for himself? For Spencer, Sam? No not for Sam. Not even for Spencer and certainly not for The Old Woman… Floyd was doing this because Floyd liked killing shit and this was legal which made it slightly less desirable, but still fun.

But if that was the case, why were his palms feeling hot and dry, why was sweat breaking out on his brow? Why did he wish he was somewhere else right now? Why did he feel sick? He thought that probably he was coming down with a bug. There could be no other reason for it. He stepped out of the gloom and looked down the gallery to where three brothers stood. One of them was Shelton. Shelton the wicked. Shelton the big baddy. Shelton the child?

Shelton looked like a ten year old boy. He had fair curls on his head and long rangy, coltish legs of someone who could run a long damned way. This complicated matters… it was a kid? This made things very difficult… at least it would have been if Spencer had been here. Spencer wasn't here. Spencer would never have to know that he ripped a child's head off his shoulders and… well… just that is enough! Except this wasn't really a child. This was one of the elders. The visage was just a false front which was used for protection. You'd just not expect that freckle faced kid to be something plotting and planning the end of everything. Floyd watched the face turn towards him. He could see just under the surface of that sweet innocent face, another face wobbling running around… it was like a projection of something sweet on top of something nasty, rancid, decaying… the real Shelton? Floyd thought it was more likely to be the thing Shelton had taken up with.

'You are not meant to be here!' The child's voice called out… bounced off the walls and echoed back again.

'I'm not here to have a conversation with you.' Floyd said conversationally.

'I know why you are here.' The young voice hissed and took a defensive step back. The other two brothers stepped forwards on the narrow balcony and Shelton slipped around behind them. 'I know why you are here and I'll have you listen to me before you do anything rash.'

Rash? This was one of the least rash things Floyd had ever done. He had reasons for this!

'A contract is a contract. Why would I listen to the words of a brat?' Floyd moved forwards and with an almost silent hiss, withdrew the sword. He tried to ignore the smell of rotting vegetation and over cooked rotting food and moved with purpose he wasn't much feeling. Had he had the chance he might have thrown down the weapon and walked away.

'I have been working along side…' Shelton called out from behind his minders.

'I've no interest who or what you've been doing. I've been contracted for a job and I'm going to carry it out to the best of my ability. Which I'll have you know if pretty fucking marvellous. Come out from hiding. Don't make me have to kill your dogs too.' A faint, very faint waft of leather and printers ink.

'Do you think _They_ don't know what is going on? Do you think _They_ will be happy with what you have planned? What do you think will happen to all you lovely special little tricks if you no longer work for them? P-lease don't say you'd not considered that? You'll lose that ability to lure. You'll no longer be able to hunt. Dead will be dead. Sam will be taken from you. Think about it! Think what you'll lose if you anger the wrong people?' Floyd stopped moving forwards. He could feel his fingers tingling, his toes tingling… something cold sliding up his spine as though screaming out a warning to him. 'You never thought of that did you?' The child Shelton was smiling with long very sharp looking teeth. 'It never crossed your self absorbed stupid greedy mind! You'll lose everything! You will be nothing more than you were meant to be from the start… Spencer will not even be able to see you! You'll never be able to touch him again! You'll be a boring little Guardian and that's it! Nothing else. One of the lowest ranked… Why are you putting all of that at risk? To see your blessed forest? You are going to replace things you need with your dirty carnal greed with a few mouldering trees! You fool! You…'

'You shut your mouth and start praying that you don't go straight to hell. It's not nice there.'

'You stupid fool!' The child screamed at Floyd this time and again that warning tingle… and a whole bucket full of doubts began to swamp Floyd's mind. What if the kid was right? What if by doing this he would lose all his handy skills? What if doing this would mean he would lose Spencer? Sam? His bike! His fucking bike!

'I can buy a bike!' Floyd howled at the boy and he saw the confusion drift over Shelton's face. 'Why am I even listening to you?' Floyd shouted now… spitting in anger that he'd done what you should never do, and gotten it a nice little chit chat with the thing he was about to kill. 'You're a traitor and a liar!' Floyd shouted. Something soft moved behind him, but for now it was out of range. Floyd checked it though, listened for it, was ready for it.

'I'm the traitor?' A laugh. A childish giggle of a laugh. The boy put his hand over his mouth and giggled into it. 'Everything I know I've learned from watching you! And I've improved on it! I don't make the same mistakes over and over again. I'm not a filthy pervert!'

Oh that really was enough. Floyd had heard far more than he'd intended to. He moved the sword around in his hand and changed the grip he had on it but at the same time he spoke loudly… nothing important, but something to distract from what he was doing with the sword which was now gripped so that it pointed behind him. The grip was light. Hardly there at all. Just enough to keep it where he needed it. 'I'd hump you in a flash, kiddo. Dead or alive. Doesn't bother me. But you know that don't you? You know that I don't give a fuck if you're heart is still pumping or not. I'll make that a promise to you if you want. I'm going to screw your perfect white little arse and then I'm going to eat your darling little brain… maybe I'll do both at the same time. Perverted enough for you? Is that what you expect?'

The boy pushed out from behind his cover. His sweet rosy red lips were drawn into a spiteful hard line. His eyes were narrowed with the hate, or maybe it was lust? HA! Floyd wasn't about to find out.

'Whoever the fuck that is trying to sneak in behind me, just stop where the fuck you are. One step closer and I'm going to turn into the rabid beast you expect me to be and I don't want to get blood all over the lovely books.' Floyd snapped. The hissing sliding footsteps behind him stopped and it was at that point, when Shelton looked to see who it was Floyd was talking to that he flicked his hand in a quick, accurate… deadly swing. He wasn't much of a swords man. It wasn't a skill he was particularly good at or even enjoyed, but knives? Yes he could throw them and the sword made a strange singing hiss as it arched gracefully through the air and shuddered to a wobbling halt as it embedded it self into Shelton's eye. Was it enough to kill him? Floyd wasn't sure. He'd intended to take the child's head off and still intended to do so. As soon as he could get his hands off his ears that was. The noise! The fucking noise! Az hadn't made this terrible howl when he'd killed him! Az had died like a soft lump. Shelton had his mouth open and was screaming such a scream that the plaster was shaking on the ceiling and lumps were beginning to fall down. Books were rattling on the shelves. The brothers were backing off with a look of horror on their faces, but they didn't seem to be in any hurry to assist the boy. Floyd could feel his nose burst into a flood of blood. He could feel hot wetness bubbling out from between the fingers he had pressed over his ears… that scream which was almost so high pitched that it wasn't possible to hear it. The look on the child's face! The sword was still shuddering and making a noise like a deadly blood covered tuning fork which picked up on the scream from Shelton and reflected it right back again.

He moved towards the boy who was taking slow staggering steps back away. 'NO!' The boy was howling now… At least Floyd thought that's what he was screaming. Small childish hands were grasping for the weapon poking out of his head.

It has slowed him down but hadn't killed him. The fucking noise though! That was going to be the killer here. He could sense more than hear the brothers running. He saw a glimpse of someone running across the lower library floor.

'Told you I'd kill you!' Floyd mouthed the words. He didn't think any words would be heard over the howling screams. He took four steps forwards and grabbed at the sword hilt, spun the boy around with it so that Shelton's back was to the balcony rail. He placed a foot on Shelton's stomach and ripped the sword out. It made a small squishing pop sound and then a whooshing crack as Floyd swung it around and took the boy's head off in one strike. Shelton's body slumped to the floor and his head flew backwards and for a moment as Floyd watched, it looked as though the child's head was floating in the angelic clouds painted on the ceiling.

The screaming stopped.

The blasting of the horn started.

'Well done Floyd. You killed a defenceless kid and probably lost Sam and Spencer. Well fucking done.' He flicked the blood off the blade and put it back in the scabbard. There was a small itch of a thought that he should take the heart, but he didn't have time. The others weren't going to be stupid enough to think that pretending (and yes, it was just a pretence) to be a child would save them or stop him. They were going to have all the fucking guns ready. Floyd kicked the body of the child and then walked away. The brother's Shelton had thought would protect him were long gone. Running with tails between their legs.

'Motherfuckers.' Floyd muttered.

o-o-o

Spencer was pacing with a coil of rope over his shoulder when the horn blasted out. It was a teeth rattling noise. He'd been worried that he'd not hear it, but it was like it was being blasted right into his ears. Spencer let out his own whining cry as he slowly got used to the pain it was causing. He could hear shouts outside of his door and running feet. Now was time to join in. What ever it was Floyd was doing, it had started and there was no time to stand here and jiggle foot to foot at the door.

He wished he had something he could take. Something to calm his nerves. Something to remove some of the jittery feeling he had which was making his whole body shake. This really wasn't the time to start craving something. He clenched his jaw and pulled the door open. Brothers (as they seemed to call themselves) were racing by in both directions. They didn't even glance at Spencer standing there looking shifty with a long length of rope over his shoulder. He joined in the running and made his way quickly down stairs and around corners. He had to double back at one stage when he got caught up with a load of panicking brothers who, it seemed, were going back to their rooms rather than tracking down what had happened. Spencer supposed that every one had a place to be when something like this happened. He raced down the corridor towards the small area with the guarded door. He was nearly at the end of the corridor when someone darted out of a side room, grabbed Spencer by the arm and dragged him back in to the room… slamming the door.

Spencer didn't give Az a chance to speak. He spun on him and a fist connected with Az's mouth before a word was uttered. The following uppercut took Az off his feet and slamming to the floor. Spencer had learned a lot during his time with Floyd. He knew how to fight dirty. He was across Az's middle and ready to rip his face off when Az spoke through a bloody mouth.

'Floyd sent me. Please! Don't hit me! Floyd sent me to help you get past the wards and protections. He said you were going to rescue The Sam and instructed me to help.'

Spencer's hands were hovering over Az's face ready to deal damage, but he paused. 'What? Floyd? When?'

'He said to wait for the horn and to come here and assist you. There is a guard on the door. I can get rid of him and help with protections. You wont be able to get all the way down there on your own. Please!'

'And why would you help Floyd? He broke your neck.'

Az looked puzzled. 'Because his eyes… his voice… they told me that he was doing this for the good.'

Spencer lowered his hands and got up off Az. 'One false move and I'll…'

'I have no doubts about what you will do to me.' He muttered and wiped blood from his face. 'I will get rid of the guard.' He sounded scared. He sounded resigned to his fate. 'Wait here. I will let you know when it's safe.' He slowly got up and straightened his clothing.

Spencer watched him walk back to the small door. 'How do I know this isn't a trap?'

Az turned that sad face towards Spencer. 'I would have called for assistance if I wanted you caught.'

It seemed fair. Spencer stood, shaking with the adrenaline and maybe a bit because of his increasing need for something chemical in his system… and he waited for Az to come back and give him the all clear.

And what if Az doesn't come back?

What if Az lured him here and was going to get someone who could stop him?

What if Az was captured?

Spencer scratched at his arms and jiggled his little dance as his heart leapt and pounded in his chest and blood whooshed in his ears. At least the sound of the horn had died down now… it was a distant cry now… like an animal in pain.

Before Spencer could start to worry that Az really wasn't coming back, the door swung open again and he gestured for Spencer to follow him.

'I just told the guard he was needed. He's a soldier. I'm not a fighter. As you might have noticed.'

Spencer followed Az to the small area where the door was and watched Az muttering words and drawing symbols in the air in front of him.

'What are you _doing?_' Spencer hissed at him.

'Unlocking the door. Hush.' Az snapped back as the door made a hissing sound which made Spencer think of air locks. 'Quick. Go through. I'll follow and lock it again from the other side. Hopefully no one will realise that it's been opened, but I can't promise you that. Move!' The door swung silently open to reveal a long dark staircase going down. 'I will bring light. Go down a few steps… quick… if you want this done you have to be a bit faster!' Az moaned at Spencer's back.

Once the door was closed again there was no light at all. Spencer couldn't even see his hand in front of his face. He hunkered down and sat on one of the steps. Just standing there in the darkness was somehow making his head feel swimmy. Again he could hear Az muttering words and then let out a long sigh, probably of relief.

'I will make light.' Az whispered. It seemed that he was sitting on the step next to Spencer now and that somehow bothered Spencer. He didn't like this Az person and he didn't trust him. He certainly didn't want him so close in the dark, but gradually light began to appear… not on the stairs but around Az himself. 'The glory of the light shines within us all. I am lucky I still have mine. Floyd damaged me. Sometimes when things like that happens all that remains is a hideous darkness. I think that's all Floyd has left.'

Spencer had to agree on that. 'Yeah… not glory of light shines from within Floyd… except on the few occasions when…' Spencer stopped. He wasn't going to tell Az that being screwed by Floyd made his see all sorts of wondrous things… light was probably the least exciting of them.

'There are wards and protections down here. I will go first and disable what I can. I can't promise that I can undo all of them. If there is pain caused I apologise now, but I don't have time, and you don't have time to waste. Follow.'


	18. Chapter 18

18

The light which glowed around Az lit up about ten foot around them. Spencer considered asking Az about it… but pushed it to the back of his mind. Not being able to glow was the least of Spencer's problems. The stairs led down seemingly forever. One straight line of stairs which seemed to have been carved out of stone. There were no hand rails which gave Spencer a feeling of great unease. For all he knew Az had a pair of wings hidden under his tunic and could just take off flying if he slipped.

It wasn't easy to keep his eyes on Az's back. The light hurt his eyes and made them water, but after being warned…

'Try not to touch the walls. There are glyphs and wards there which I don't have time to disable.'… Spencer needed something to focus on. He hadn't realised until now how much he actually needed to keep a hand on the wall to maintain his balance. And the stairs kept on going down… Spencer lost count at just over one hundred when Az suddenly stopped and crouched down.

'Sit.' He told Spencer. 'This might take a while.'

Spencer did as he was told and sat down on the step just above him. 'We don't have _a while_ to sit and mess around.' Spencer hissed at Az's back.

'You want to get blown apart? You're welcome to go ahead alone, in the dark. You might make it to the bottom of the stairs. You probably wont. I would rather be in my room cowering under my bed. I'm not a warrior. I make enchantments. I'm a scholar. It's up to you.' Az sounded almost hopeful that Spencer would go on alone. He didn't want to be here. He didn't want to be part of this.

Spencer let out a long breath between his clenched teeth. 'It's just… We need to hurry.' There was no reply to Spencer, just a few more muttered words and then Az stood up and started walking down the hundreds of steps again. Spencer didn't bother counting any more. He was now distracted by the churning sick feeling he had in his stomach and the return of his headache. It was with great relief that Spencer saw in the distant glow of Az's light, a small landing. Spencer stood with his hands clasped over his belly as Az went to the only door in the small five by five area and started muttering and waving his hands in front of the door. 'I don't feel too good.' Spencer leaned forwards with his hands resting on his thighs. 'I'm going to be…' and he was… very sick. It gushed out of his insides like a tidal wave. It dripped out of his nose in long snotty lumpy strings of something which looked oddly purple.

'You should have said.' Az snapped at Spencer. 'Why are humans so reluctant to admit when they're weak?'

'Oh dear god…' Spencer heaved and puked some more. He had no idea what it was he'd eaten to make his vomit look like a damned rainbow but there seemed to be every colour spewing out of his mouth and nose.

'Your dear gods are not going to help you. That's the point.' Az pulled the door open and started to walk down a long corridor. 'Well I thought you were in a hurry!' He called back to Spencer who was wiping his mouth and blowing his nose on his sleeve. 'And close the door behind you. Once you're through I can use a different light source. This glowing from my guts tires me out.' Az now sounded snappy, but far more confident. Or was it that he was glad to see the discomfort?

Spencer closed the door and started to walk… 'Is it this place? Is it making me sick?'

'Certainly. It picks up on the dark and will wind it self around your guts and try to stop you. Nothing I can do about that. It's your own sin and corrupt soul which causes it. You should have spent more time in prayer and less time kneeling at the foot of your bed for other reasons. Remember not to touch the walls and it might help if you avoid walking on the marks on the floor; though I can't promise you that.'

Spencer wanted to wring the arrogant little tart's neck. He would have clobbered him again had he not needed him so much. 'You don't know what my life was like.' Spencer snapped. 'You don't have a right to comment on it. You have no idea what went on.'

Az spun on Spencer, his eyes wide with… humour… was he _laughing_? 'I don't have to have seen! I can feel it running out of your pores. Where is _your_ holy light, Spencer? Flushed down the toilet I would think. You're just as much scum as Isgar. You're nothing, and I'm only doing this because it was requested. Now if you're going to hit me again, get it over with, let me go… let me go and ask for forgiveness for what I'm doing. I'm helping you rescue a demon from The Pit! Do you have any clue what that means? Do you understand the trouble I'll be in if this revolution fails and I'm taken by them? Do you _know_ what they will do? Nailing Isgar to a wall was just foreplay; that I can promise you. So either hit me and let me go in bloody peace or stop whining and let me get this done. If you weren't scum you'd not be needing my help.' Az turned again. He was shaking almost as much as Spencer was, but Az was shaking with rage rather than a need for a fix of something.

'I'm sorry.' Spencer muttered. 'It's just that…'

But Az was not listening to Spencer. He was again waving his hands around him in what looked to be set patterns. He was muttering at symbols and pictures on the walls. He then held his hand out in front of him and lit the whole of the corridor. It was a flickering light, almost like strip lighting with a problem. It was though, much easier to see where he was going. Spencer slotted Az into the comfortable position of _Wizard_. Angel? Well Az didn't look like what he'd expect an angel to look like. Surely Angels didn't wear red skinny jeans? Did they?

The sickness Spencer had been feeling on the stairs was passing now that they were virtually running down a straight corridor. There were no doors, no alcoves, nothing but walls covered in what Spencer would have thought were demonic patterns but apparently there weren't. These were protection against the demons, or anyone who might come down here without permission.

'Is someone going to come after us?' Spencer re-adjusted the rope over his shoulder. 'Will they know we are here?'

Az turned and looked at Spencer. 'Put it like this… I am going to help you get The Sam… And then? Well I'll probably take Sam's place.'

'So if you are so sure of this, why are you doing it?'

A twitch of a smile on Az's face. 'You have no idea of the Lore do you? Has Isgar never explained things to you? No… don't bother answering me. I can see in your eyes that he's never talked to you about any of this. I am doing this because he killed me, I forgave him and he accepted. Am now Isgar-Quenell's little bitch. I've no choice. He asked me to do this for him and so I am doing it.'

'That makes no sense.' Spencer told him. 'If he killed you, surely you'd hate him?'

'Hate him. Hate Isgar. Yes! I really should have shouldn't It's not that easy. If it was that easy I'd certainly not be here. But he accepted the forgiveness and I accepted the apology. Therefore whatever happened in the past stays in the past. There's no room for hate, Spencer. Only room for forgiveness and that… well he asked me nicely to help you. I had no reason not to assist as I could tell easily that he was being truthful. I don't want to know that he has planned. I just know it's going to be deadly. It's going to change things here. That's all I know. I doubt I will be around for the final outcome. I'm not expecting to be. So can we just carry on and get The Sam?'

So Az was playing at martyr. Spencer could in a way understand that, but it didn't mean that he had to like that attitude Az was displaying. Yes Spencer needed him… he didn't have to like him… and the more he was with Az, the less he liked him. It was maybe having to rely on someone who made his skin crawl that annoyed Spencer most. He was glad though that he'd smacked him one. That at least brought a small smile to his face.

They kept going. Every now and then Az would pull to a stop and mutter at the walls or the ceiling. The thumping headache Spencer had was getting worse. It felt like a wire band was wrapped around his brain and it was getting tighter. Was there a point in telling Az this?

Spencer thought that this was the fifth door they'd come to. He had no idea how long or how far they'd gone, but there'd been six lots of stairs now including the first lot. None of the others had been so long though. The last one had been a tight spiral which came out into the small circular room they were both standing in. Az was again waving his hands in front of the door, but this time it seemed to be taking longer. Spencer sat at the bottom of the spiral stairs and looked at Az standing now with his hands on his hips and his head cocked to one side.

'Problem?' Spencer finally asked.

Az looked over his shoulder. Spencer thought he looked worn out. Knackered in fact. There were dark shadows under his eyes which were looking slightly bloodshot. 'I don't know. I might just need to rest.' He turned back and reached out for the door handle. Spencer felt it. A deep vibration from somewhere. The floor beneath his feet started to shake. This time Az spun and ran towards Spencer. 'Get up… move! Lay down! Move!' And Az was racing past Spencer and back up the stairs again. Had there been no room for Az to get by Spencer thought he'd have been trampled. 'MOVE!' Az bellowed again as he half ran and half crawled up the trembling rattling stone stairs.

And Spencer did move. He spun and followed the quickly disappearing feet belonging to a creature who was meant to be an angel. They were nearly back up onto the landing at the top of the stairs when Spencer felt the rush of hot air hit his back. He was on his hands and knees, but it forced him both down and along as a hot blast followed by bits of wood and stone ripped across his back. There seemed, oddly, to be no sound. Everything was completely silent for maybe ten seconds and then he could hear screaming. It took maybe another thirty seconds for Spencer to realise that it was him that the sound was coming from. The rattling and crashing of stone and wood stopped. The air stayed horribly hot. Spencer could smell blood and burning and now just about he could hear the moaning of Az who was laying just ahead of Spencer in a blob of red. Thankfully, Spencer thought, that the red was what Az was wearing and not his blood. At least that was his hope. Spencer didn't move. He could feel that the skin of his back had been ripped. He could feel blood trickling down his side. He'd smacked his face on the edge of the top step and split the skin on the bridge of his nose. There were little speckles of blood on his hands and lower arms and there was blood in his mouth.

'Az?' He finally said after spitting out some blood and blinking back the fog in front of his eyes. 'Az? Are you all right?'

Az Slowly moved and pushed up onto his forearms. There was a dripping wet sound as he did so and Spencer assumed that Az also had smacked his face. At least Spencer sort of hoped that Az had. 'I'll be OK, I think.' He sounded shocked and sort of distant. He sounded like a man who was about to get up and run and hide.

'What happened?' Spencer asked as he crawled a sticky trail to where Az was trying to push himself up to sit.

'What do you _think_ happened? I can't do this. I can't go further. The wards are too strong. They will know that we are here now and they'll come after us and, Spencer… they will not have to spend ages unlocking doors and checking glyphs.'

'How far do we have to go?' Spencer sat so that he was leaning against the wall, checking the damage to his face.

Az also managed to sit. His face seemed to have taken most of the damage to the jaw. Az spat out blood and pushed shaking fingers through his pale hair. 'Two more doors. But if I couldn't get that one open I don't stand much of a chance on the others. This is assuming that the lot didn't come down and block our passage.' Az wiped at his nose and then sucked on his fingertips. 'I'm going to die now anyway, I might as well die doing something useful.' Az stood up and slowly walked back to the top of the stairs. 'I'm willing to keep going if you are. I can't promise anything and you're going to have to be so careful. If you sense anything or feel anything odd you have to tell me. They have all sorts of tricks playing here.'

And so after Az gave Spencer's back a quick look and announced that he thought it was going to be just fine, they moved back down the stairs.

o-o-o

In the meantime Floyd was pushing his way past swarms of angelic beings to get to Rak, who was hiding his ugly arse up in the green room. The green room being a large hot house type thing. Rak was hiding amongst his fucking pot plants! The idea of it made Floyd laugh and he could feel the blood splatter on his face pull where it was drying out. He had blood over his face, down his front, up his arms, on his feet. He'd left bloody foot prints on the floor and had trailed blood behind him off the head he had tied to his belt.

Screams abounded, but Floyd blocked them out. His hearing seemed to be a bit dulled since Shelton had screamed his last screams. Obviously a defensive mechanism to stop his ear drums bursting when he slaughtered Rak. A couple of brothers tried to stop Floyd. Whether they were insane, stupid, or just foolishly brave, Floyd didn't know. He also wasn't totally sure if he'd killed those who tried to stop him. Floyd knew only that he touched them hard with his fist and then they stopped trying to touch. One idiot stood guard in front of a doorway. He was ripped away and slammed against a wall. The brother made a crunching sound and more screams happened. Floyd thought maybe brother arsehole had died. Not his problem. _Don't want to die today? Don't get in my fucking way._

He sent the message out often enough, therefore the fools still hanging around had a death wish. Wasn't for Floyd to disappoint them was it? When someone actually pulled out a small blade and pointed it at Floyd there was a sound as though the whole of The Bastion had taken a deep breath.

'I'm not letting you through. You don't understand the damage you are doing!' Brother Arsewipe informed Floyd.

'Get out of my fucking way!' Floyd pulled his blood stained sword and touched the tip against the brother's throat. 'Drop that fucking knife or die where you stand.' He hissed at him.

'No brother may…'

That was enough. Floyd didn't want to stand and bargain with him. He pulled his blade back, gave the brother a nod. 'You're not my brother.' Floyd told him and swept his head off as easily as putting a knife into butter. Butter which had been in the fridge for a while… Floyd felt it dig into the sinews and bones and then watched in a disconnected way as the head dropped to the floor at the brother's feet. 'Now will you get out of my way?' Floyd kicked the head towards some howling crying moronic looking guys in yellow and moved on through the door and up the stairs. He decided that keeping his blade out of the scabbard was the thing to do. So far so good.

He hoped.

He stroked the head he had on his belt for good luck as he bounced up onto the landing. A scream and a yelp from someone who saw the blood splattered murdering mad man appear with a head of a child dangling from his belt and a dripping sword in his hand. 'Anyone fancy getting in my fucking way?' Floyd shouted. He no longer thought that being sneaky was going to work. Rek would be waiting for him armed with his watering can and gardening fork – quaking in his rubber soled sandals. Floyd was no longer angry at all. It was more of a blood lust which had filled him now. He didn't care about Spencer or Sam. He didn't even really care if his own head ended up bouncing across the floor; he just knew that he needed to see blood, smell blood… taste it in his mouth, feel it spray over his face… he wanted to reach in to chests and rip out hearts… his stomach growled in agreement as he took to the next lot of stairs. The next landing had a big double brown wooden door. And a row of brothers facing him. Quick count… seven tall wide handsome men with long flowing hair and long white robes. They looked like American Football Players in frocks. Floyd snorted out a laugh which made his nose bleed and his ears ring. They were going to try to stop him. They could wrestle him to the ground any day. They each stood well over six foot. Each of them was probably twice Floyd's weight. But they didn't have a motherfucking sword! The sword of angelic doom! HA! And it was making his fingers tingle and his lips tingle. He gave his lips a quick lick and raised an eyebrow.

'Do I need a password? Let me try one… _Get out of my fucking way or I'll kill the sodding lot of you_ – and yes I know that's not just a word, it's a few words, but it was worth a try.'

One of them… the middle one, took a step forwards. He held his hands out in front of him and smiled a sad smile. A condescending smile if there ever was one. 'Isgar-Quenell, we are here to ensure that you do not disturb Elder Rek in his work. I advice that you lay down that weapon of destruction and hand your self over to us before there is more bloodshed.'

Floyd took a step to the side. He didn't want the opening to the stairs directly behind him. 'If Elder Rek doesn't want to be disturbed the he can lay down what ever it is he's got in his hands in that there hot house and come out and face me. If that's not going to happen then I'll kill you all.'

'Isgar-Quenell, there are seven of us. We are soldiers. We can smite you with one word… with one look.'

Floyd shook his head at the lying fuck. 'No you can't. You'd have done that already if you could, but you've suddenly realised that I'm a brother and even if I'm behaving in a irreprehensible fashion, you are unable to fucking smite me! You're not permitted.'

'Isgar…'

'Shut the fuck up saying my name! Shut the fuck up saying any fucking thing and stand aside or I'll add you to my list of sins and that list is so fucking long that you'll not even get a place on the bottom. Now move your detestable hides or you will feel my… Oh fuck it.' Floyd waggled the sword under the nose of the brother who had been talking to him. 'Move or die.' He didn't move. He died. The blade slid into the brother's chest and made a gloopy singing sort of sound. For a moment Floyd's attention was taken up completely by the way the sword blade twisted and moved and twisted… he watched the blood spread out over the white garment the brother had been wearing… it was like a magical sea of blood… the smell was like apple blossom… bloody apple blossom. And there was that scream again… not as bad as last time, but still bad enough. Floyd ripped the blade out and swiped at the head as he had done with Shelton. The vile screeching stopped immediately. He then turned to the other brothers standing there looking somewhat awkward and maybe a little bit horrified. 'Are you going to threaten to smite me?'

'You shouldn't have done that! It's against all the teachings. Brother against brother is the biggest sin.'

'So you will stand there and allow me to take your heads?'

The brothers exchanged glances and almost comically started to walk to the side. 'He will kill you. You wont even get inside the door.' It was a warning. A pointless one. Floyd wasn't going to put down his sword and walk away now. 'You will be damned!' The brother sounded almost distressed at that idea.

Floyd placed his hand on the door handle. 'Even the ones doing to damning are going to damn me. I can't go back. I can only go forwards.'

'Spencer will die. The Sam will die. You will lose everything.'

A quick look over his shoulder as his hand tightened on the cold metal door handle. 'I've already lost everything. Unless you want to follow me I'd get out of the way.'

There was a lattice work of green vines. The doors here had pulled open but access still seemed impossible. Unless you had a handy sword with you at least. The vines were pulsating and moving slightly. More like an eight by eight foot square of wriggling snakes. It was a strange feeling that flooded Floyd's mind. He'd not cared one damn about killing the brothers, but slicing through the plants wasn't something he wanted to do. He took a step back and stood for a moment thinking about it. They were rare plants for sure. He moved back another step and sheathed his sword. The thought of hacking through them was making his head feel odd and swimmy. He licked at his lips and again stroked the top of the head hanging from his belt. Thoughts of finding another way in crossed his mind. _Poor plants… poor innocent plants that never did any harm to anyone… can't kill them. Can't do it._ Another step back, but a deep frown had formed on Floyd's face.

'They're just fucking plants!' He shouted out. 'You're stupid mind control thing doesn't work with me!' But he was still standing there not moving and every second he stood there was a second wasted. The sword again was pulled, but Floyd held it limply at his side. A deep reluctance to hard the plants had filled his mind and was crawling through him like a disease. The sword clattered from his fingers as he hunkered down and now rubbed furiously at his temples. 'Just fucking plants.' He muttered. Floyd reached out and took hold of the blood covered weapon again and then with a reluctant sigh he stood. He took some steps forwards and now raised the weapon in front of him. 'If you don't want me to kill your precious plants, then you'd best move them out of my way. Counting to ten… one! Two, three, four, fivesixseveneight… nine! TEN! Ready or not here I come!' It felt like he was hacking through living flesh. It really was quite nasty. They swung and screeched little pathetic noises at him as they bled green muck over his already messy blue robes. The hood was down… no point in a disguise at this point in the adventure. The stuff dropped little pin pricks of hot acidy green blood onto his face. A bit dribbled down the back of his neck. Floyd could feel it burning on his skin but for now ignored it. He wasn't going to survive this… a bit of burning skin didn't matter now.

'You murderer!' A scream came from the back of the room. A very large room with a lot of those dangling vines writhing not just up the walls and along a trellis but over the floor too. Smashed pots and bowls scattered over the areas not taken up by wriggling plants. A few very large and very bright flowers bloomed high up… and plants which Floyd had never seen before, gigantic wide sticky looking leaves with ugly arsed flower things attached to them. A rich raw stink of meat wafted over towards Floyd.

'I warned you to remove them. If I hurt your babies that's your fault.' Something brushed against Floyd's foot. He kicked it away and walked forwards, being very aware that this was like a massive walk in trap made up of man eating plants. 'Show yourself you cowardly motherfucker! Show your ugly arsed face and stand before me.'

'Never! I will set my plants on you. You'll never get me! Murderer! Pervert! Damned of the Damned!'

Another thing touched Floyd's bare foot. This time it almost seemed to be trying to grab a hold of him. 'Call them off Rek, or I'm going to have to start stabbing at the bitches. Call them off and come face me.'

'So that you can take my head too!'

'Exactly. Come on don't be a baby now.' Floyd crouched and ripped a small but tough bit of something from around his ankle. 'It'll be quick! You'll not even know I've done it.'

'Liar! I heard the screams Shelton made.' Floyd stood again and tried to home in on where the voice was coming from. The rear of the room.

'Shelton resisted my charms. I know you wont. Come out before I start to lose my temper with you.' A creeper slid around Floyd's sword arm. He snapped it off and heard a soft whimpering sound as he did so. This might not be the walk in the park he thought it was going to be. Rek might not be permitted to kill, but these plants sure as hell could do damage. The stinging to his face was increasing, and now where the vines had touched bare skin he could feel a nasty, distracting tingle starting up. It was much like he'd put his arms and feet in a bed of stinging nettles.

'You wont win this fight!' Rek called. He seemed to have moved though. He was no off to the side. Floyd glanced in that direction and made a quick swift move with the sword, cutting through a tangle of something which almost for a moment looked as though it had a face. If it had, it didn't any more. It squelched and sighed and flopped to the floor where almost right away, it withered and curled up.

'I'll not win the war, Rek, but you have to believe me when I tell you that I'll win this fi…' His comment was cut off as something suddenly wrapped around Floyd's neck and face. Something else crept up the leg of the jeans he had on under the robe and yet another thing was wrapping around his chest. 'Fucking fuck! You fucking cunt!' Floyd howled out as yet one more creeper snagged at the hand holding the sword and started to drag it out of his hand. The other creepers tightened and pulled and pulled and dragged. Floyd saw the precious sword being dragged off into the undergrowth, maybe never to be seen again. He howled in rage until the creeper around his neck stopped him from doing so. He kicked and wriggled and pulled at things dragging him sort of upwards and back. His feet left the floor, his arms became entangled in more and more things coming in for the attack. Floyd had been in many bitch slapping fights before, but ever with a damned plant! The burning was now getting worse too and the way those creepers were moving over the back of his head and slowly around to his ears and the corner of his eyes was not a good feeling… even worse was the thing which seemed to have a good tight, eye-watering hold of his gonads.

'Now you don't sound so sure of yourself.' Rek walked out from under the cover he'd taken. He had Floyd's sword in his hand and was looking up at his captive who was now about five foot off the floor and being dragged over towards some of those large sticky leaves. 'It's a plant. I have no control over it. It acts on natural instinct to keep the enemy at bay. They will eat you alive. They will tear through your body and devour you bit by bit and you'll feel every last bit of it. How does it feel? Are you enjoying yourself, Isgar-Quenell? Did you expect me to fall as easily as the child whose head you're carrying as a trophy? You fool!' Some insane laughter follows… Floyd stared down at Rek as the vines teased the corner of Floyd's eyes. He wanted to scream at Rek… all the abuse he could think of… every nasty dirty sick word he knew in every language he could remember, but if he opened his mouth these prying nasty green plants would be in his mouth and down his throat. If Rek wanted Floyd to give himself up he wasn't showing it. Rek waggled the sword and Rek spat nasty words… 'Dirty whoreson! Pig fucker! Child raper!' The foolish man was virtually jumping up and down in his anger. Floyd relaxed. Floyd let it happen, whatever was going to happen would. He couldn't fight this room full of murderous vegetation. He could though, if he was very quick… send out soothing thoughts… _I'm your friend. It's him with the sword you need to defend against. It's he who has kept you prisoner here…. Can you ease off slightly on the balls before you pop them off? You know I didn't want to hurt you. I asked Rek to move the barrier. I begged him to! I'm not the enemy. I will let you go. I will free you. Set you free to grow and live as you should. Surely you're not going to dip me in that large and yet awesome pitcher plant and let it eat me! Feed Rek to the plant! Rek who has kept you locked away._

Would it work? Well it seemed to be. The things were loosening slightly. This was good. He was now up about ten foot and looking down into the bowl of a man eating plant. Not good! So not very good at all. The vine around his neck didn't loosen. Floyd thought that the malicious bastard was actually pulling tighter… and though he could hear Rek shouting words of alarm it didn't really give Floyd as much pleasure as he'd have liked. Something was also slithering back towards his left eye… getting much too close as all the vines except for the one around his neck released him. Floyd let out a howl as his body suddenly took all the weight. The vine cut into his neck enough for blood to begin to drip and dribble. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't see. He couldn't do much but hang by his neck being slowly strangled. Rek's shouts got louder for a moment… cries of alarm, pain… distress… screams for help!

The thing on Floyd's neck pulled away causing a spray of blood as he fell, reaching out for something to stop him from dropping all the way to the floor. He found something… The edge of the giant pitcher plant. Something slithered across his eye and with a scream, Floyd was falling the rest of the way to the floor.

There was a strange silence for a few seconds before the screeching scream which again threatened to burst Floyd's ear drums… Rek was dying. And Floyd hadn't laid a hand on him.

However…

Floyd had a nasty feeling that he was dying too as he lay on the floor amongst the vines pouring out blood onto the stone floor.


	19. Chapter 19

19

Spencer stood behind Az who was muttering at a door again. He was close enough to see the tiny pale hairs on the back of Az's sweaty neck. He could smell the panic coming off him in waves. He could also see dust and fragments of stone caught up in Az's hair and clothing.

'Do you have to stand so close? It's rather distracting having you breathing down the back of my neck. Go and sit on the stairs back there or do you funny little dance, but quit breathing on me.'

'Hey now…' Spencer was going to deny what he'd been doing… purposefully doing… out of some kind of spite which was something which was not totally unknown to Spencer but was rare. He stepped back a few paces though but his fists were clenched tight into fists. He could feel his fingernails digging into the soft skin of his palms.

Az turned to look at him. 'You remember that I said you should tell me if you get any strange sensations or feelings?'

Spencer nodded and again stepped back. There was something very nasty and undesirable about Az's expression. It was almost as though he was gloating about something. 'Everything is wonderful.' Spencer muttered. 'Apart from…'

Az raised an eyebrow. 'Something is wrong? If so tell me.'

'You need to stop ordering me around, Az. You need to get back to what you were doing and finish the job. You said they would come for us.'

'And they will, but I can't do my job if it feels as though you're going to bash my brains out.' Az barked back at Spencer. 'It might not have looked like it, but I can defend my self if I need to, so if there's something you want to get off your chest, maybe do it now before we get blown to shreds trying to rescue _your_ friend out of The Pit.'

Spencer would have. The rage he was feeling was quite intense. He could feel that his ears were hot, his face was burning… his mouth tingled and his fingers itched to reach out and punch that nasty little red clad thing! 'Did he… Did Floyd touch you? Did he…'

Az seemed to almost snarl like a dog. Those big blue eyes darkened slightly and went into spiteful slits. He took a step towards Spencer and now Az had his hands in fists too. 'Are you asking if he despoiled me? Are you asking if he… if he did… if he did what he does to you?' Az looked at the anger of Spencer's face. 'And if he did? What then? What will you do? I'm going to die anyway. They'll have my head on a spike over the gates of The Bastion, so what threat do you really think you can pose? You're nothing! You're just some trained dog from down there. You're filth. You are a stinking disgusting animal! Do you have any idea how much your sort smell? It's stomach churning! It's the most unbelievable vile corrupt smell you can think of. Stale sweat, old dirt, smoke, grease, shit, urine, sour milk, rotting flesh. I can smell your sickness and I can smell your addiction. You make me want to puke, so go ahead… do what you want, but you'll never see your precious Sam again. Though why you'd want to is beyond me! That thing stinks worse than you.' Az paused and turned his back on Spencer and looked at the door again. 'And they say Isgar stinks. I assure you that what I smell from Isgar doesn't begin to compare to the stench coming from you.' He raised up his hands and ignoring Spencer who was once again doing his junky dance, and muttered some words at the end of his fingers. A moment later the door popped open with a soft bang and the two of them headed down yet another flight of stairs.

'So the next do is the final one? Sam will be beyond it?'

'Why can't you just be quiet? Stop talking to me. You'll know when we get there. That's all I'm going to say. I don't want to be your friend so stop doing whatever it is you're doing.'

What was he doing? 'Whatever it is…'

'You sound like a school kid trying to chat someone up. Just stop it. You make me feel dirty and uncomfortable.' Az could feel his own cheeks burning. It would have taken so little for Az to shout out what he was really feeling. He wanted Spencer to drop dead. He wanted Spencer to run off and get blown up. He wanted The Sam to be dead by the time they got there. He wanted Isgar-Quenell to choose him over Spencer. Az knew he was the better looking of the two. He _knew_ that. Spencer was battered and worn out. He looked sick and smelled even worse. He had a disease as well as the addiction, only Az didn't think that Spencer knew that he had the disease… and he wasn't going to share that bit of information unless he really needed to. He wanted Spencer out of the way! He wanted to be… he wanted… he… 'Don't touch me!' Az yelped out as Spencer grasped his arm. 'Don't you touch me! It's like being slimed on by some creature fresh out of the midden.'

'Wow. I was just going to ask… is this the final door?' Again Spencer could feel his face burning with anger? Not quite… not quite anger… something else. Something which was beginning to confuse him. 'Look, Az… I think this place is sending me messages, ideas, thoughts… maybe I am not thinking straight.'

Az sighed. 'Yes the final door is the next one. And really I don't think… Spencer…' Az let out a long sigh and licked at his lips. 'I don't want to die!' Az was in a sudden, shocking flood of tears. 'I don't want to die! I don't want this to be all I was created for! I don't want to do this. I don't want to try to open that door because I know it's going to kill me.'

Spencer stood looking somewhat awkward. He didn't want to put his arm around the wailing crying young man. He didn't want to risk touching him again… but he wanted somehow to comfort him. 'I'm very sure that if Floyd has anything to do with this that he will ensure that if you die that it'll not be forever.'

This didn't help. The sobbing howling sounds only increased. 'They will take my head!' Az managed to sob out. Had this been Sam crying he'd have known what to do, but this was Az… Az who didn't want to be comforted in the way Sam did.

'Well… I'm still sure… but, maybe if you just get through his final door and show me what to do, then you can leave. Tell the others that I forced you to. Tell them I made you. I don't mind.'

'I'm not a traitor. Can't you see that?' Az was shaking and his face was so pale that it was almost transparent. He drew in a deep breath… 'I did this because Isgar asked me to. Not because I wanted to, but because foolishly I thought he would… I don't know… offer me something.'

'Get the door open' Spencer snapped at Az. 'I'm not sure what you're implying you expected but you were wrong if you think that Floyd wants you… needs you the way he needs me.' Spencer wanted to scream at Az… he wanted to tell him that he'd never feel Floyd's mouth on him. He'd never feel those strong arms around him. Floyd wasn't up for sale. Never had been and never was… that game was finished. Forget it. Floyd doesn't want him… never _ever_ in Spencer's wildest dreams could he picture Floyd wanting this…

_SLUT_

_ WHORE_

_ VIRGIN_

_ ANGEL_

_ PERFECTION_

_ BEAUTY_

_ UNTAINTED_

_ SLAG_

_ HO_

Oh there were other words… worse words but Spencer managed to filter them out. 'Az… this place.'

'Shut up! Stop it! Your breath stinks! You make me want to puke! Keep away from me!'

This really wasn't going very well. If Floyd had thought they could bond then he was very wrong. If Floyd thought that Spencer was going to like, Az (he almost thought _permit_ and withdrew that quickly) then Floyd was mad. If Az thought that he could take his place then Az was insane. Spencer placed a slightly cupped hand in front of his mouth and breathed out into it and then inhaled. He pulled a face and decided that Az was right. His breath stank.

o-o-o

Floyd was virtually spat out of the green house. He was dragged by his feet and catapulted though the doors. He smacked against the wall with a resounding _splat_ and the sword flew out after him. He didn't move. He didn't utter a sound. The few brothers standing there assumed that the plants and that Rek maybe, had killed him. He looked dead. There was blood smeared down the wall and now spreading out around him. The doors slammed shut with a strange breathy hiss and all for a moment was total silence. There didn't even seem to be any breathing taking place. One brother nervously took a step towards the sword.

'Touch that and you will never touch anything again.'

The bubbly weak voice of Isgar-Quenell muttered at them. Floyd was sure that he could hear the sudden pounding of panicked hearts and the rushing of air which had been held in as breaths had been held.

'Brother Isgar…' One of them moaned… in horror? Horror that there was so much blood, or horror that he was still alive? Floyd wasn't sure but thought it might have been the latter. No time… no energy to kill someone for talking.

'I'm not your brother.' He managed to bitch. It was enough… they began to back away.

This sort of thing had never happened to them before. They'd lived in relative peace for so long. The occasional smite and the games outside with _Them_, but bloodshed within their halls? Never. This was the first time any of them could remember this happening and the general horror of it was that they had no idea how to stop it! Isgar was mad… he was insane… they all knew that. He'd been recruited by someone much higher up than any of them to get rid of the rot which most of them knew was there and chose to ignore. What to do! Could they stop him? Should they stop him? Surely they couldn't help him? And with this thought, one of them stepped boldly over to Floyd and hunkered down next to him.

'We can help you if you will let us. We are afraid for our lives. We don't know what it is we should be doing.'

'Burn the fucking plants. Don't let them out. If they get out into The Forest I will come back and kill every last one of you. Understand?' Floyd rolled slowly onto his back and looked up at the brown haired brother standing there. 'And then you can get me to Vaas.' Floyd took in the look on the face of that brother and would have smiled at that expression, but he felt just too tired to bother. It was a look of surprise, maybe curiosity and maybe a touch of terror. Perhaps dismay or revulsion.

'Isgar…' Did they _have_ to start every fucking sentence with his name? 'You are injured. We should get some healers in to see to you. Your… your face… it's…'

Floyd now managed to push up onto his elbows. He had a look down at the mess covering the front of the blue robes. It was soaked in blood, most of which had squirted from his neck. His arms looked as though they'd lost a layer of skin, they were sweating little beads of blood and clear liquid… Floyd blinked and could tell that only one of his eyes was working. The vines had done something which he hoped was temporary. He didn't put his hands to his face and check. Vanity would have to wait. 'I need to go to Vaas. Now. A little help would be much appreciated.'

A hand touched his shoulder. 'He is in his office, Isgar, but you are in no state to fight. You must…'

'I'm not going to fight. Just help me up and get me there… and sheath that sword. The rest of you, burn the plants. I'll make sure you do.'

And so two of the brother's who had more guts than sense, maybe, half dragged and half carried Floyd down the stairs and along corridors. No one stopped them. No one wanted to get blood on their hands. No one wanted to be involved in this. They had not been asked directly to do one thing or another so they hid in rooms and watched through the cracks of the not quite closed doors as two of their own, dragged one of the lost brothers down the corridor leaving a bloody trail, like a bleeding slug… behind him. The doors clicked shut again and small cries of despair could be heard, but nothing else.

Floyd was going to ask why they were helping, but there seemed no point. He doubted they even knew. Something ingrained into their beings forced them to assist even if it meant he could cause more damage. There was no need to thank them when they stood him in front of the doors and rapped loudly for him. They didn't have to ask to open the doors for him and then they didn't have to be told to get out of the way and hide somewhere. It was done without vocal commands and without hesitation. They could run fast.

The room looked like a comfortable office. There was a large desk covered in scrolls and paperwork, books and bottles of ink with feathered pens laying next to them. Vaas sat in a large padded olive green chair. There was another nice padded leather chair in front of the desk… a couch off to the side. Cabinets, cupboards, book shelves up against the walls and a large bay window looking out onto something which Floyd couldn't make out. Floyd stood looking at Vaas, at first with confusion and then with the narrowed eyes of deep suspicion. He didn't wait to be invited in. Floyd stumbled forwards over the hand made red and green rug and flopped down into a comfortable couch.

'The leather chair, please.' Vaas asked.

'Fuck you.' Floyd answered. 'My getting blood on your upholstery is going to be the least of your problems.' Floyd now took the time to run his fingertips over his face. _A fucking mess_ was what he thought, but he said. 'I need a drink and a smoke.'

Vaas was a skinny, almost oriental looking man. His skin was sallow and his eyes sharp and knowing. He clicked long nailed fingers at a thing sitting in the corner. It stood and moved quickly to the side of the desk. Floyd gave the creature a quick once over. He'd seen things like it before, but not here. Things like that didn't belong in The Bastion. It was almost a bird, almost a man… maybe a bat? It was really hard to give it a proper place. There were lank feathers on its black head, leathery wings on a skinny knobbly back, talons on its feet and claws on its hands. 'Get him a drink. Whiskey I think is his preferred tipple. I don't allow smoking though. Disgusting habit.' The creature scuttled over to one of the cabinets, but Floyd dismissed it… it was Vaas he was here to talk to.

'Nice place.' Floyd waved a bloody hand around the room. His arm dripped blood and splashed over the large rug and wooden floor.'

'I'm delighted that you like it. I thought we needed to talk. You look a bit worn. Rek give you a bit of trouble did he?'

Floyd sniffed, wiped his nose on the back of his hand and said nothing.

'I thought you would fall at the first hurdle. You are a surprise. You took Shelton's head I see.'

Floyd patted the blood covered head and smiled a bit. It hurt. It hurt a lot. He dropped the pretence and looked over at the creature from hell who was gliding over now with a glass of whiskey in its hand. The drink was placed on a small side table and the thing went back to its corner.

'You thought I'd not take Shelton? You misjudged me. You continue to misjudge me. You think you're going to walk away from this and I'm going to have my head on a spike. I know what you're thinking.'

Vaas stood and walked to look out of his window. Floyd still couldn't make out what was out there. It looked like a green blur. He eyes were fucked, he was sure of that. His mind was still in tact though and that's all he needed.

'I'm going to make you an offer. One which I don't think you'll be able to refuse. You know what you've done has upset those I serve.'

'I don't give a fuck who I upset. Again you've not understood my motives.'

Vaas stiffened slightly. 'You will lose The Sam. You will lose The Spencer.'

Floyd picked up the drink and took a long swig. Again it was very fine. Not as good as the other he'd had, but still pretty good. 'They are not _The_ Sam or _The_ Spencer. They are _My_ Sam and _My _Spencer. They are mine. Doctor Spencer Reid and Sam Trent-Saviour. They have proper names. And they're not yours to say if I can continue to have them or not. So quit the bluffing and turn to face me.' Another swig.

Vaas did turn. He moved swiftly almost as though he was on roller skates. Actually if he had been it wouldn't have shocked Floyd in the slightest. He sat and picked up a glass which already had some red coloured drink in it. He sipped and he smirked and Floyd would have got up and ripped the arseholes head off there and then if he thought he could move. 'Sam is a creation of the dark. He is a Darkling. If you piss of those who allowed you to have him, they will remove him again.'

'Fucking can't. Sam is part of me. Sorry, buddy… you got that bit of information wrong.'

'Spencer will be destroyed. His soul will be…'

'Nope. I'm bonded. Can't do that either. I'm his guardian. All the time I'm bonded with him he's sort of safe.'

Vaas punched at his desk with his fists. 'I can remove Sam and remove Spencer!' He shouted at Floyd who didn't even blink. 'I can destroy you! You're scum. Filthy dirty scum!'

Floyd shrugged. 'Scum is surely in the eye of the beholder. I know what I am, you don't have to tell me. Now can we get to business because this chatter is very boring. I'm going to request that you withdraw yourself from this place. I'm going to ask that you go out there and join forces with _Them_. You're going to leave and never look back… you can take your little friend there with you. You can if you wish deliver a message to whoever the hell it is you're in touch with and tell it that the game is over.'

Vaas stood again. His hands were pressed onto the desk, the sinews in the side of his neck stood out like slimy ropes. 'I have something to offer you. Will you listen?'

'You've nothing I want.' Floyd said. 'Unless you have a spare cask of this shit? It's damned good.'

'Imagine this…' Vaas again sat. 'Please close your remaining eye and what's left of the other and rest a while and picture a perfect day. The birds singing in the trees. Leaves underfoot. The smell of The Forest. The Forest you've been lusting over for most of your miserable existence. I can let you return. You can have Spencer with you. A compliant Spencer. One who will allow you to do your filthy things with… maybe even Sam could be arranged eventually to join you. Everlasting peace. Forever. Nothing to disturb you. The fresh air. The blue sky. The smell of Spencer lusting after you. What else could you possibly need? I can give you that! Waterfalls, rainbows…'

'Unicorns and fairies? Fuck _off_! No thank you, very much.'

'What is it you want! I can give it to you.'

Floyd wiped more blood from his nose and took another sip of a drink. 'Spencer would hate it for a start. He's not good at surviving out of doors. So for starters that's not going to work. Putting Spencer in The Forest for eternity? Nope. And I'll want my bike. Roads… wide open roads… a good deal of road kill too. Love to see squashed animals. Love to eat them sometimes too. So you see your perfect little picture wont work. They don't let you have bikes in The Forest.'

Vaas took in a deep irritated breath. 'What do _you_ want? What are your desires?'

'My perfect little life? Crap, I don't know. It's too muddled in my head right now. Maybe another drink will clear my thoughts.' He held out his empty glass. 'I drink red wine too. Please. In a clean glass and I don't want that shit you're drinking. It looks like the sort of thing you'd find scum and maggots in.' Floyd said nothing until he had a fresh drink in his hands. He thanked the creature and then looked up at Vaas who was sitting now eating a bit of cheese. 'Perfect… OK… I want Spencer to be mine. I want him to have a job he loves. I want to be there for him when he gets home from work. I want to have him on my arm when we go out. I want to look to my side and see someone who may be battered and bruised, but is mine. I want to listen to his voice late at night when he's reading. I want to see his face relaxed and happy when I'm reading. I want to touch him and feel that heat rising from him. I want him to touch me and feel the same. I want to care for him, provide for him. I want to be his Guardian. There is also the matter that I'll need Sam too. The three of us happy ever after. The three of us loving each other and protecting each other. I want that fucking contract on Spencer to be cancelled. I need him to live a long and happy life. I want to see him…'

'Grow old whilst you stay young and beautiful? Not that you're much of a beauty right now. You want to see the pain in his eyes as his hair falls out and his teeth rot in his skull. You want to see him slowly wither away and die in front of your eyes? You want Sam there for back up… when that time comes when Spencer smells old and sick and you know he's dying… dying old and in pain and toothless… the rot eating away inside of him… senility taking his mind from you. That's what you want?'

Floyd found the strength to stand. He wobbled and sat back down again. 'No… No. That's not what I want.' Floyd for a while sat in confusion. 'Maybe I want to grow old with him.'

'HA!' Vaas laughed. And then he laughed again. 'You want to grow old? You want your hair to fall out? You want to wrinkle up and become unable to get hard?'

'No!' Floyd didn't try to stand this time. 'No… you know… You know…'

'I know that you extended the contract on Anthony. I know that when the time came and you saw that he was aging… oh when I say aging, I mean that he wasn't a _child_ anymore… then you killed him.'

Floyd sipped on the wine and licked his lips. 'Wasn't like that.'

'Was exactly like that! You extended his contract for five years and then you broke his neck, screwed him and left him to rot in the woodlands. You miserable son of a bitch! You greedy selfish monster!'

'Well yeah… I guess. But I'm not going to do that to Spencer.'

'No… You will continue to kill him or let him die at intervals and then cry and crawl on your belly and moan and bitch like an old woman until you get him back all fresh and young again. The younger the better! I've seen what you've done to him! The first time you actually kept your hands off him for a surprising length of time. A quick kiss maybe…'

'You can shut your fucking dirty mouth.' The wine glass was on the floor spilling the sweet drink in a bloody puddle. 'You don't know anything! You have no fucking idea!'

'Then explain! Tell me… and if you leave me here to carry on with what I was doing, you can have Spencer, all clean… all beautiful… young, innocent… you can have Sam… both of them! Just tell me what it is you want. There has to be something? Surely?'

And there was. There certainly was something. 'So if I request it, I can have it?'

'Just ask! Isn't that what I've been saying to you? Just ask me. I have the power in my little finger to grant what you request.'

Floyd stumbled over to the desk and leaned on it with one hand. 'Ok… You can really do that? All I have to do is leave you alone?'

Vaas had him.

At least Vaas thought he had him.

'That's all.' Vaas grinned a long toothed grin at Floyd.


	20. Chapter 20

20

Spencer thought that considering they were breaking into what classed as a prison to free what _the brothers_ considered to be a demon, that there would be the sound of pursuit before now. Not that he wanted to have to face angry brothers, but the fact that he couldn't hear them was making him all the more nervous. Were they sneaking up behind them? Were they just around the corner waiting? Spencer stood with his back to Az who was still waving his hands around and muttering words Spencer didn't understand and looked back down the long passageway in the direction they'd come. He was tempted to go back up a level and see if there was any sign that someone had followed, but he didn't trust that Az would do what was required of him. Not that Az could get by him and not be noticed. No one could miss that whorish red garb he was wearing.

Spencer's expression changed from curiosity to hate as he turned again and looked at Az standing there like butter wouldn't melt in his mouth.

'How much longer?' He knew he shouldn't keep distracting him, but it was impossible not to.

Az gave a single shouldered shrug. 'Want to take my place?' He snapped back.

Of course Spencer didn't want to, and couldn't. And that narked him all the more. He wanted to be the one to rescue Sam. He didn't _want_ to work with Az. The temptation to just smack Az's brains out on the door was getting stronger. The vile hatred he was feeling for him was building up to a point he didn't think he'd be able to just stand and do nothing for much longer.

'Why is no one coming yet?' Spencer now asked.

And Az spun around and glared at Spencer who was standing there in his slightly shredded clothes, looking more like a homeless person, and certainly smelling like one. 'I don't know! I don't know! Just keep your mouth shut and stand still! You want me to hurry up but you wont let me get on and do what I'm meant to do.'

'Because maybe I think you've been messing with me all along. I think I could have just of easily reached this point on my own and I wouldn't have had to suffer your arrogance along the way. You're just attempting to hold me up. You want to get caught.' These words sounded so rational to Spencer as he spat them out at Az. 'You can't open that door can you? Admit it!'

Az took a step closer towards Spencer. 'I'm doing my best!'

That wasn't good enough. Hadn't The Old Woman said that when he thought that he'd done his best that he had to do more… push harder… 'I don't think that you are. That's what I mean. You're holding me up here in the hopes that someone else will come and stop it. You're hoping… you want them to assume I dragged you down here. You want them to kill me and rescue you. You want somehow to look like the hero.'

Again both Spencer and Az had their hands in tight fists at their sides. 'I'm _not_ trying to hold you up. I'm trying to do what Floyd requested. I'm trying to rescue The Sam for you. Why can't you just accept that?'

'It wont work.' Spencer took a step closer to Az… now only a few feet from each other.

'It will work, and Isgar-Quenell will see that I've done this for him and I'll be rewarded.' Az seemed to pull himself up and straighten his shoulders with the surety of his words. His manner changed abruptly when Spencer's fist smacked him in the mouth.

The fight that followed was a hair pulling, scratching, shin kicking, bitchfest. It was a shame no one was there to watch it. Floyd would have loved to have seen it and Sam would have placed bets. Spencer spat the words… 'You can't have him!'

… and Az spat back… 'He _will_ reward me!'

'By not killing you himself! That's all. He doesn't want you! Why would he want you?' The rage built as the fists swung and smacked.

Az felt something give when Spencer backhanded him across his nose. He wailed and put his hands to his face and backed up against the door he'd been trying to open. 'I don't stink! I don't smell of sewers. I'm not old and ugly and… and I'm not about to go mad because I can't have my fix! I'm not a junky! I'm not a whore! I am perfection! I am perfect and…' He burst into pathetic tears again. 'I offer myself to him.'

'Why? Why offer yourself to him. Why become what you hate so much? Just open the door. Open it and let's get Sam.'

'No.' Az moved to the side. 'No. If the reward isn't coming then why should I do this? What's the point?' He rubbed at his scratched bruised face with the back of his hand. 'The door is unlocked. Good luck. I've done what I was asked to do. The rest is up to you. Get your demon from The Pit. Do it. I'm going to show my support to Isgar. See you around.' Az sidled by Spencer. 'Do your own dirty work _human_.' He hissed and broke into a long legged lope down the corridor back the way they'd come.

'Az!... no Az! Come back!' But there was no reply. He disappeared around the corner and was gone.

'Crap.' Spencer muttered. He now stood next to a door - which he thought would probably blow him to pieces - alone and with no idea what to do next. He considered chasing Az and smacking his brains out and he considered chasing him and apologising. Though he didn't know what he should be apologising for! Az had the delusional idea that he could replace him in Floyds affections. He was going to be very disappointed. For a few minutes Spencer listened out for screams. There were none. There was nothing but the very, very distant sound of something crying. At first he thought it was from Az, but now Spencer realised that it was coming from behind the door.

'Sam.' Spencer moaned. He picked up the rope he'd dropped during his little scrap with Az and stood looking at the door handle. It would either open the door or kill him. There was going to be nothing in the middle. 'Sam! I'm on my way!' Spencer shouted out and then wished he'd not. Az might be waiting beyond the corner… he might be watching and waiting for the door to blow up and kill him. Az could then just walk in and do the final rescue. Again he was tempted to go and see if Az was there. He even turned and started to walk slowly away from the door.

'This is a trick. It's designed to stop me.' He spoke aloud and as he said the words all the hate and stupid jealousy he'd been feeling about Az fell away. 'Damn this. Damn it! I need Az back here.' But Spencer turned to the door and without thinking again wrapped his fingers around the handle and pulled it open.

Nothing dramatic happened. No bang. No gaseous mists and explosions. All there was, was the mosaic floor with a metal grill set in the middle… and a horrible pathetic mewling sound.

o-o-o

Floyd sat down in the chair his side of the desk. He rested back into it and ran his fingers of one hand through Shelton's hair and picked at a crust of blood on his neck with the other.

'I want a two storey home with a wrap around porch. I'd like three bedrooms. A nicely fitted kitchen and a small loo in a space under the stairs. I'd like the building to be painted white. I don't want no cheap and nasty coloured trim. All over white is so much easier to keep clean. I want a rocking chair on the front porch and a couple of hammocks out the back. A few acres of land… wooded land. I don't want animals. I've never really got on with animals all that well. Hard enough keeping Spencer and Sam in line… Sam is my dog. The only dog I'll every want or need. I want cosy evenings in front of an open fire. I want…' Floyd could feel his heart pounding, skipping, jumping in his chest. His face felt suddenly too hot. The room felt smoky and dark… '…Why am I telling you what I want? You can't provide me with my needs. You're not able. You're just someone's ape… an ape on a very short leash I'd imagine. You've no more power to give me what I want than that thing there in the corner. I do have some questions for you though. Why? Why did you send Sam into The Pit. You could have controlled him. Had a pretty little servant. Why did you hide him away? Wont _They_ be pissed that you've captured one of their own? It makes no sense. Really it doesn't. Not if you have the power you say you have, which I know for fucking sure that you don't. You've got the ability to stomp your ugly size fifteens all over The Bastion. And you've got the ability to get some, but not many, brothers to do what you want? But when it comes down to it, really your only skill is that you are like me. You were created as a brother and so they can't kill you. That's some safety net don't you think? But then I have to ask myself something else… and this is the puzzling thing… and it's been there in the back of my head setting off alarm bells for a while now. A long fucking while if you take into account that I've live a whole fresh fucking lifetime since it happened, but this… Why did _They_ send me here? Why is that do you think? They knew that the brothers wouldn't stop me from doing what I wanted. They knew that until _very_ recently I'd never hurt a brother, whereas I've hurt a ton and a fucking half of their lot… so it puzzles me. Why did they send me over here when they knew full fucking well what was going to happen when I arrived. They fucking knew that the brothers would use me against you. Don't you think? They knew that the brothers wouldn't kill me. But I think they had a pretty good idea that I'd kill them… no proof as I've pointed out already, but it doesn't take much to get my blood up. So Vaas, why was I sent here?'

'The reasons are not important.' Vaas snarled.

'They're very important! You see what I see is a totally different picture to what you see. I know you have enough power in your darling little finger to pick your own nose and that's it. You just have a big mouth and a muddle of words which are lies for the most part. You've learnt to lie. You've learnt to deceive. Not really much of a trick is it! Now I've been sitting here a while thinking… And when I get to thinking then I get to mulling over things said and why they're said and how and all the connotations which go along with it and I've come to the only logical conclusion I can think of…

'…I'm never going to see The Forest again. That's OK… I'm pissed, I'm actually gutted and I'll mourn that, but it's going to have to be that way I think. _They_ actually don't much like you or Shelton or Rek… they knew that the brothers would recruit me. They knew I'd kill Az. They knew everything already. They needed rid of you… That lot which sit up in the clouds and play harps and shit, they knew… it's them who made the deal with the Dark. It was them who got me hauled over here. I'm an assassin. That's it. That's what I've decided. I'll likely get paid well. Life ever lasting for my Spencer? I don't think so. It's not good… living forever… immortality sucks the big one sometimes, but Spencer has enough to keep him going for now. If he eventually grows old, I'll care for him. If he needs nursing, I'll nurse him. If he needs to be loved, I'll love him. Exterior and interior don't often match. If that makes sense to you. It doesn't matter if my Spencer is a bent up old fuck… He will still be mine and he'll be mine in an honest way… no deals with things which aren't able to make them. You understand? And yes, I'll have Sam to love and screw around with once Spencer can't or doesn't want that anymore. So there we are. The end of it I suppose. I'm going to finish what I started. I'll recover Spencer, recover Sam… kill Az and everyone will be happy.' Floyd stood, wobbled and stood with his hands at his sides. 'Ready?'

'You're insane. If you really think that's what happened, then you're madder than we all thought you were.'

'Absolutely possible! I'll not deny that, but maybe we'll never find out and I don't need you to give me a wrap around porch and a rocking chair do I?'

A soft hiss as the sword left the scabbard.

'You wouldn't dare risk everything on your stupid ideas.'

'Oh but I would! And that's what makes me who I am. It's my _I don't give a shit_ attitude that's so attractive. I'll make sure that your head is spiked along with this one on my belt and with Rek. I'll make sure Az joins them… if not for any other reason than I don't trust him and I don't want that pretty untrustworthy arse following me into hell.'

'You… Isgar-Quenell…'

It was the last thing Vaas said. Unless you count the thump his head made as it flew from his shoulders and hit the desk. Floyd turned to the creature cowering in the corner. 'Don't fucking look at me like that!'

It quivered and nodded. 'You were right.' It hissed at him.

'Of course I was right! I'm never fucking wrong. Go back to your master… you don't want to hang around here. I'd say all hell is about to break loose, but naaa… it's going to be singing and finger-painting for a year or so now. Unless you like Turkish delight and crazy happy clappy camp fire songs, I'd get the fuck out of here.'

o-o-o

Had Spencer followed Az and gone around the corner he'd have found him sitting on the stairs with his arms wrapped around his head sobbing silently. This was absolutely the worst day of Az's life. Even having his neck snapped didn't compare to how horrible today was. He'd messed everything up. If he didn't go back and help, Isgar would have no want or need to reward him… If he did go back he'd have to face Spencer and admit that he was wrong and Spencer was right. He couldn't do that either. There was only one other option and the thought of it made Az break out into goose bumps over his back. The red tunic top was stuck to the sweat on his back and was itching under his arms. Az pulled it off and threw it to the side. He didn't care any more if anyone saw that he got pleasure from some things. It really no longer mattered. Isgar had marked him and from that point Az's life as he'd known it was over. He wished so much that he could have told his masters that he didn't want to keep Isgar awake. He wished he'd had the guts to do that. He wished he'd known what danger he'd put himself into and he might have been better prepared for this mess. He grabbed the tunic and wiped blood and tears and sweat off his face and dropped it to the side again. Spencer had broken his pretty nose. He'd split his lip… he'd bitten the inside of his mouth and his ears stung. Az had grazed his knuckles though… that put a small smile on his face. He stood and glanced down at his torso. That was supreme. It was a beautiful torso… even Az could see that it was perfect. All he'd have to do was let Isgar see it and he'd throw that pathetic Spencer to the side and would pull him… Az, into his arms and all his troubles and problems would be over. He removed the smug smile from his face and walked down the few steps and out back down the corridor again. He could see that the door was open and he could see Spencer hunkered down just this side of it.

'Spencer?'

Spencer heard his name being called and turned his head to look. He knew it was Az. A slightly nasal speaking Az, but the whining voice was unmistakable. 'What? I thought you'd gone running to Floyd to get your candy.' Spencer's eyes were locked on that fit, lithe body walking towards him, but most of the anger had gone now. He was just overwhelmed by the stress, he was tired, his head, face, hands, shins, toes… all hurt… and there was Az coming back like a lost kitten. Spencer wanted to be annoyed but he just turned his head and looked over at the mosaic floor. 'Do these patterns mean anything?' He asked… He didn't care if he was talking to himself.

Az knelt down next to Spencer and pointed out a couple of patterns set in which looked like spokes of a wheel. 'Just avoid those. The rest should be OK. I'm not sure that it'll be OK for The Sam though. We'll need to be careful. I'll unlock the grate.' Az stood… wafting his smells in Spencer's direction and then he placed a hand on Spencer's shoulder. 'I think this place makes people argue… get irrational. I apologise.'

Spencer shrugged the hand off his shoulder and stood. He said nothing. This feeling he had inside of himself now wasn't something put there to slow them down, this was raw dislike. Not hatred. Really Spencer didn't think he could hate anyone for any length of time. He could feel sorry for them and dislike them… even feel intense jealousy… hate? Maybe… maybe he could. Maybe Spencer didn't like that side of him. That side of him which swung as quickly from hate to love… just as Floyd did. Another habit he'd picked up from him. Or maybe he'd picked it up from Sam. Spencer felt this teeth clench. Whatever the reason for smacking Az in the face, Spencer wasn't going to apologise. It had felt good. It had felt damned wonderful to feel that cute nose give way. Spencer shook the thoughts from his head and nodded. He stood, glanced again at Az's perfect body and bit back any comment of sluttish behaviour he was beginning to think.

'Well go on then. Unlock it. I need to get Sam out of there.' No sign of gratitude. Spencer would have torn his own tongue out before doing that. If this place was meant to be a place of peace and happiness, Spencer didn't think it suited him too well. Spencer looked down at his arms which suddenly felt sore and noted that he'd scratched and pinched his inner arms until in places they were bleeding. _I need something to calm me down_ he moaned inwardly… _Either to calm me down or to intensify everything…_ either would allow him to think clearing than having this fog of confusion eating away at his emotions and thoughts. He started scratching at his neck as the pair of them walked over the patterns on the floor towards the grate. Az pointed to a place for Spencer to stand, and then muttered words and drew patterns over the grate. There was a small groaning clicking sound and a small red light central to the grate suddenly lit up.

'We have thirty seconds to remove it.' Az pointed to the grate. 'Maybe some help? It's heavy.'

Spencer looked at Az's muscled back. He looked at the small but very well formed smooth muscles in his arms and hated him all over again. His own arms were messed up. Never to be smooth and beautiful again. Some of it he'd done. Some of it Floyd had done. Spencer bit down on his bottom lip, crouched and stuck his fingers between the grate. 'Sam… we're here!' He tried to sound happy. He thought he just sounded pissed off and tired.

o-o-o

Sam had huddled to the side. He had his back to the wall, his arms around his shins and his head on his knees. He had been doing a lot of crying. A hell of a lot of crying. Sam didn't think he deserved this treatment. He hurt… every part of him hurt. He was dirty, smelly and he felt sick, hungry and thirsty. His lips were swollen and sore and his tongue felt like a big furry creature had crawled into his mouth. There was also the matter that his hair was matted and caked in goo and blood and all sorts of other nasty things. He'd been sitting in darkness, feeling his bones knit back together, feeling his brain itch and itch and itch until he didn't think he could stand it any longer. His back hurt and his neck ached. The only part of him that felt like it hadn't been smashed was the small toe on his left foot. He _was_ better than he was though. Now that the itching and scraping and pulling and digging feelings were dying away he had allowed himself to tumble into deep self pity. When light suddenly shone down from above he thought they'd come to taunt and mess with his mind. He had been sure that he'd heard Spencer's voice, but that couldn't be. It would be Floyd who would rescue him, not Spencer. Floyd would have come and got him. Floyd would have killed everything to get to him… but yes, that was Spencer calling down. There was another voice there, but for now Sam couldn't place whose voice that was. It wasn't Floyd. That's all that mattered.

He squinted up at the bright circle of light and heard a scraping popping sound as something was moved. 'Hey Sam!' That was Spencer again.

'Spencer?' URG! His voice sounded like an old man. An old man who had been chewing razor blades for the past fifty years.

'I'm here. I'm going to drop a rope down. Can you climb?'

Could he climb? Yes he probably could. He had a feeling that he could put his hands and feet on the side of the pit and climb up like a big juicy spider. The lumps on his ribs throbbed at the thought. 'No…' He told Spencer. 'You'll have to pull me out.' Sod climbing. Sod it. He'd have climbed for Floyd but not for Spencer.

'I'll put a loop on the end and you can slip it around you. We will pull you out.' Spencer sounded tired, but maybe relieved.

We? There was someone else there then. Sam had been right. 'Who are you with?' Sam slowly, using the wall for support, stood. He still had to squint though. The bright light was digging into his eyes like shards of glass. Eyes? He had two eyes! At least for now he did. Ah… wonderful. Sam smiled for a second then put back on his pained miserable face. Wouldn't do good to look happy. 'Who else is there?' He mumbled with his tongue which was too big for his mouth.

'It's OK!' Spencer replied. 'It's just Az.'

Just. Just Az. Great! How can the day improve? He didn't bother replying. He really didn't know what to say other than calling Az a dirty cunt and he wasn't really in the right place to express that sort of endearment. At least not yet. Soon. Oh soon. He watched the snake of rope fall down from the circle of light and saw the loop he was expected to be hauled up with. It was going to hurt like a son of a bitch, but he gritted his lovely new razor sharp teeth and moved slowly over towards it. He picked it up and stood holding it for a while. He could see his hands for the first time and he could see how long and sharp his fingernails were. Whatever this place had done to him, it had improved on all sorts of fabulous things.

'Sam?' Spencer's worried voice called down.

'Wait. Just wait a fucking second. I'm in deep and dreadful agony here.' Again his voice sounded strange. 'Do you have water? I'm as thirsty as a whore in heat.' He wondered if Az was thirsty too as he dropped the loop over his head and pushed his slender pale arms through. He pulled the loop tight and held on to the length above his head. 'OK… but just slow… I don't want you ripping my arms off.'

Spencer pulled slowly on the rope and Sam felt his feet leave the floor and then his toes and he was swinging. The rope scraped up his ribs and dug into his armpits. He gripped tighter onto the rough rope and moaned and whined and bitched. He told Spencer to slow down, speed up, be careful, stop swinging him like a monkey. He bounced off the side a few times and cried out in pain – and then exaggerated it and cried louder. The rope dug in harder, grazing his skin and skinning his hands. He yelped out a few times when he thought he'd broken a fingernail, but no, it was all good… but causing a fuss was what Sam did best and so he made the most of the situation and cried and yelped out some more. When the circle of light was close enough Sam reached up and grabbed at the edge of the opening. He cried out now in delight and happiness… but not for long.

Spencer grabbed at Sam's upper arms and helped him out the last little bit. Sam knelt on the edge of the opening and wrapped his arms tightly around Spencer. 'Thank you, thank you.' He felt Spencer hugging him back and life for a short while seemed to be perfect. Then he looked up and saw Az standing there in his impossibly tight small red jeans and no top. And Sam's world fell apart again for a while. Az looked wonderful. He was sweaty and beautiful… his eyes shone and that body! That lovely body which needed to be used so badly… and it was all Sam could take. He was sure that Floyd had been screwing him. He was sure that Spencer had joined in. He was sure that all the time he'd been down that pit, which had felt to Sam like a thousand years, that they'd been playing their games with a pretty boy replacement. Sam howled and coughed and sobbed and Spencer held him tight and told him that everything was going to be wonderful. He was safe. Everything was great.

And Sam rubbed desperately against Spencer… he pressed his dirty stinking horrible body against Spencer and he wanted to… really wanted to bite Spencer on the neck and suck the blood out of him. He ran his tongue over the throbbing on the side of Spencer's neck and he felt the hot skin with his teeth.

'We need to go.' Spencer pushed him away slightly. Pushed him away! That was proof… all the proof he wanted. All the proof he needed. He'd been replaced by that red whore standing there all… all… slutty!

'Just remember not to walk on the…' Az started to talk.

Spencer cut him off with the look he gave him. 'We are not going back with you.' Spencer snapped at him. 'Your job is done.'

Sam gave Az a dirty look as Spencer dug into his pocket and pulled out the purple candy. He just hoped it worked.

'I can…' Again Az started to speak.

'No…' Spencer muttered. 'We're not going back that way.' And he popped the candy into his mouth and sucked furiously on it. If nothing happened he was going to look pretty stupid!

o-o-o

Floyd sat on the green leather chair with the sword in his hand and the new head on his lap. He closed his eyes… at least what was left of his eyes and took a long deep breath. He'd played their game. Now what was going to happen?

It was the temperature change which alerted Floyd that something_ had_ happened. He then realised that he wasn't sitting on the chair any more but on his butt on a smooth floor. At first he thought he'd been shot straight back to hell, but when he opened his eyes all he saw was white… white going on forever. Smooth whiteness with nothing to disturb it. He still had his heads and he still had the sword, which he now put down. He moved a hand slowly over his face feeling again for the damage. One eye was swollen and sore, the other was a scabby lump. His nose was broken, he had smashed teeth… apart from that everything was great. He stood up, letting the new head roll off his lap and tumble across the floor. He had no idea where he was. Not a clue. He tried to remember if he'd been to a place like this before and there was nothing there. So he guessed this was death. This was his eternity. Which was better than the pits of hell. But not really what he wanted. 'Hello?' He spoke… his voice was loud and clear. There was no echo…

'What do you want?'

The voice spoke into Floyd's head with such volume that he clapped his hands over his ears. What was it with things trying to deafen him recently? 'Well, I dunno where the fuck I am… how did I get here?'

'We brought you here.'

Wow… that made his brain vibrate. 'Then why are you asking me why I'm here?' Floyd spoke almost as a whisper.

'I asked you what you want, not why are you here.' A small pause. 'You served well. You have a reward. What do you want?'

Floyd tried to raise an eyebrow and couldn't. His face seemed to have lost some of its usual flexibility. 'I want…' He said no more. He really didn't know how to put it in words… he didn't want to make a mistake. 'I…'

'Shall we just pull your needs from your head, Isgar?' The voice didn't sound angry. It sounded curious. It sounded calm. It sounded like a patient parent talking to a slightly slow child.

'Yeah. I think.' Floyd mumbled.

It felt like there were ants crawling over his brain. He scratched at his head and winced, but didn't complain. He didn't seem able to complain. 'Your thoughts are confused.' The voice said. 'I will have to go deeper and take what you really want. I know that these surface needs are not true.'

'Well they just might be.' Floyd mumbled… but it made no difference. The pain hit him like a truck had just smacked into him. He flailed backwards… then as he fell clutched his head which he was very sure was going to explode with the pressure which was suddenly there. He arched his back, cracked his head on the floor repeatedly, bit his tongue, and did a fair bit of old fashioned screaming and kicking. It didn't stop. Floyd didn't think it was ever going to stop. So this was his punishment? Eternal pain?

He felt his heart stop. He felt his lungs stop taking in air… he clawed at his chest, his throat, his face… he rolled onto his front and tried to get away… he moved one arm… one leg and fell on his face - still.

Something moved next to his arm.

Something cool was under the side of his face.

Floyd lay unmoving on his front and sobbed like a small child. How long had it been since he'd cried like this? He didn't know. He could feel a hand stroking the back of his neck, he could feel someone holding him and rocking him and Floyd like the spoilt child he was kept his eyes closed and cried… He cried for Spencer who he thought he'd lost. He cried for Sam who he thought he'd lost. He cried for The Forest. He cried for his bike… he cried for Anthony and Little River. He cried for those nights he could have been with Spencer, holding him tight, but had wandered off to have fun somewhere else. He cried until he thought he was going to puke and then slowly stopped.

Someone else took hold of him. More hands touched him and stroked him.

Floyd wanted death to hurry up.

He couldn't take these shadows of memories playing with him any more. He should have listened. He should have taken the offer. He should have begged for Spencer and Sam… mainly for Spencer.

'Oh god… what have I done?' He moaned.


	21. Chapter 21

21

Az sat alone in the large circular room. He'd watched Spencer and The Sam sit there hugging. He'd watched as they began to get foggy around the edges. He'd tried to reach out and touch them, but by the time he'd plucked up the courage to do that, there was nothing left to touch. And now he wondered if they'd ever existed.

Slowly he got to his feet. There was nothing left here to do. He'd broken all the seals which were there. He'd risked everything and now there was nothing to show for it – except Isgar maybe? There was always that chance. If Spencer and The Sam were gone? …

Az turned his back on the open hole in the floor and walked quickly from the room. He felt light headed and hot. The air was suddenly stuffy and stale. He ran as his heart thumped alarmingly in his chest. He pelted down the long corridor and up the first flight of steps, but something was wrong. Something was horribly wrong. The light was fading. His own internal light flickered and spat and dulled. He didn't want to be down here alone in the dark. He really didn't want that! He ran, taking two steps at a time, tripping in his panic to escape. He yelped in surprise when his foot caught the top step and sent him flying across the floor. His knees scraped, his hands tore on a surface which was no longer smooth as polished marble… and his light dulled to not much more than a flicker from a candle.

He got up and hurled himself down the next length of passage. He called for help. He screamed for someone to come and find him. Things seemed to be crawling over his back, down his legs… across his chest, almost as though it was trying to pull him back, or down. He was half way up the next lot of stairs when that flickering light gutted and disappeared.

Az screamed and started to crawl up the stairs which cracked and buckled under his hands. Bits began to fall from the ceiling. The stairs felt as though they buckled and folded under him, until they were no longer stairs, but a rubbery slippery ramp. He howled in distress. He called for someone to help him. He screamed out for forgiveness for what he'd done. Tears ran down his face as he reached a flat level.

The floor under Az's hands was like that of the ramp. It was rubbery, cold… like thick living flesh.

'No! Please no! I'm sorry!' He cried as he curled up and wrapped his arms around his head.

In the distance Az could hear the sound of wings… something dark. Something rotten.

o-o-o

Floyd

You see this is why I was so careful. I could easily have said … 'I need Spencer.' It would have been easy! But they would have done something to fuck it up. It doesn't matter whose team you're batting on, there will always be a curve ball. You can't avoid it. I could have asked for a happy Spencer, but there would have been something to make every one else miserable. You can be happily insane you know? I know… I know that feeling very well.

I know that they screw you around.

I know that they like nothing better than to see someone squirm… I had to be so careful. It's all in the fine print, the details. They bitch, whine and complain at me because I apparently manage to twist things to my own advantage. That's normal though huh? Doesn't everyone do that? No one is going to stand around in an ice cold field of mud, when they could be sitting next to an open fire on a sweet rug with herbs aburning and the love of your life next to you… under you… behind you? Where ever it is you require your love to be.

What I'm trying to say here is that they twist things to such a degree that the original purpose is usually all but lost. And then there's _Them_, they have to get a look in too, so that original walk in the park has suddenly become a down hill skiing session, or a bungee jump… with no bungee. You get where I'm coming from…? I had a list in my head.

You will obviously want to know what I requested…

Here goes: I want Spencer

I want Sam

I want to a two storey home with a wrap around porch.

I want my bike and I want Sam to have a bike

I want Spencer to be happy, loved, beautiful, to have a job he loves.

I want Sam in college.

I want peace. No deals… no jobs… just peace.

I NEED Spencer's contract extended.

Now I don't think that lot is too much to ask. I also added something… I wanted Az removed. I wanted him removed and sent somewhere to wait for me. I can sneak back whenever I want you see? Spencer and Sam never need to know about it. Never have to know and never will know. I'm going to have that sweet arse of his and then I'm going to have it again. I'll train him. I can do that. I can't train him in the same way I have done Sam. I can't teach him how to hunt and trap and make outside tents with no tools… no fuck… can't do that and really have no desire to. But I'm going to use that little angel until he's screaming and can't stop. I will teach him every dirty little trick in the book. Is it possible to make something which started pure, vile and sick?

Sure!

I'm living proof of that shit! Of course it's possible.

I'm tired of being the one who has all the shit thrown his way. It's time someone else took some of the blame. And that someone will be Az. It's that or I'd have to stay hell bound for a fucking long time. I want temporary release? I need to find a replacement.

Welcome to your new home Az old buddy. Just think your self lucky. Your virginity is mine to take. Once it's gone… that arse of yours belongs to anyone. Keep those buttocks clenched!

So that's that sorted… Except I didn't get all I wanted. Sure the Az stuff they accepted happily.

The Sam stuff they said… 'It will be a partial job.'

Not sure what they mean by that, but I'm about to find out.

Actually I'll let Sam explain it.

Spencer…

I'll tell you now that I never beg. I just don't. There's no point. But I did. I begged. I even kissed the floor as there were no available toes. I would have had my tongue right down the back (or front) of their trousers, but they told me very clearly…

'The contract on Spencer has been extended a full ten years, but if you do one thing to break the peace you have asked for, then that contract will fall to two years.'

So I asked them if that meant two years from now or two years from when I finally crack and hit him…

'Two years total. If the contract has already gone beyond that point…'

They didn't have to explain. So… that's the whole new deal. I have Spence for ten years, but I'm not to hurt him.

I can do that. I think I can do that. A lot of nights having barbeques with the neighbours, reading at book club… playing golf… and watching manly sports on the television.

Sure I can do that.

BUT

… for how long?

o-o-o

Spencer

The headaches are back with a vengeance. I'm trying to listen to what is going on, but all I can feel is the pounding in my head. I know I've been rubbing at my temples a lot recently. I know I've been drinking too much coffee.

I can't sleep.

I can't stay awake.

I've been smoking again. I hate that when I'm stressed I feel the lure of the cigarette.

Oh and they all know I've been smoking too. It's not that I smell of them. Oh… no not that. I'm oh so very careful.

It was the pack… that small red and white pack of smokes that fell out of my bag at work! What it was doing in there in the first place I don't know but I stood staring at the pack which had fallen on the floor at Morgan's feet and I was like a scared child. I wanted Derek to say something. Ask me something, but he didn't. He just picked them up a slipped them back into my bag, but that look. The look was worse than a thousand words. Why do I feel the need to have my team mates' approval on everything? Is it because most of my life outside of work is so disagreeable to them? Though why they feel that way I really am not sure.

Things are for now at least, going well in my relationship. I want to laugh at that thought… but I feel too sick to laugh.

I just can't sleep… or once I'm awake I feel that drag to pull me into nightmares.

That's the problem. Horrific nightmares. I do sleep. Of course I sleep, but I wake up screaming. I wake up shaking and covered in sweat and there's always at least nearly always, someone there to hold me, get me a drink… pass a smoke… hand over a needle… offer some snort… yes there's always that.

'Just try it… try it, it will relax you.'

I've been _clean_ (mostly) in that respect for a while and I'm not going down that road again (often). That doesn't stop everyone around me at home from doing it though. Even though they know. They seem to take undue delight in tormenting me.

'Take a pain killer if you have a bad head.'

No. I wont even do that.

'I can't sleep.' I tell Derek. 'They relax me.'

Of course Derek has never smoked. Why would he understand that? He wouldn't. He would think it's an excuse and rightly so, because it is an excuse in a way.

Sometimes I wake up on the floor. My bladder has let go, my throat is sore from screaming… my jaw aches… and the house is empty.

I drink too much. I disguise that well too. I drink Vodka. That's fine! Not enough to get drunk… not when I know that I have work and I do love my work… I just…

'I can't sleep.' I tell Garcia and she knits me a hat, which I do take home and it's thrown in the trash, but not by me. 'I tell her about the nightmares. I don't tell her any details, but just that they're back again. She has an opinion on why I have them. Everyone has an opinion. Garcia is the only one who never voices it. She will put her hand over mine and give me her special look and she'll never ask any questions…

I fell asleep at my desk and woke up with a yelp. Great. That was wonderful. I know what they're all thinking. I know it. I can almost feel their minds blasting it out at me.

_It's that _man_… _

I can see the words floating over their eyes. They don't have to say anything.

I want to stand up and rip my shirt off. I want to stand there and show them that I have no bruises! I have nothing! My track marks and scars are old and yes I have a new scratches on my arms, and a bruise on my hips, but I'm not showing them my hips! Really they just wont ever understand.

People can change.

They accept that good people can turn bad. They wont accept it can be the other way around.

At home… at home on my own again. _Back later, x_ … that's what the note stuck to the fridge with a magnetic slice of lemon says. Back Later… Can I ask where? Can I complain?

No.

Oh he's never hit me. Please don't think that. He's never done that… and I sometimes wonder why. I stand there and I shout at him and I throw things at him and he shouts back and calls me a whore. He tells me I am a filthy slut. He tells me that I'm sick. He says that I'm in denial of everything and I'm never sure what he's talking about. He throws small blue pills at me and they scatter around my feet and I'm on my hands and knees picking them up and stuffing them in my pocket. One, two, three, four… I count them and I cry, because I'm not a junky. I am clean! Look at my arms if you want proof! Look and what do you see?

I'm not a junky though. I wont take pain killers but this stuff… it helps me relax… really… it helps. He screams and throws things at the wall and he looks to be almost on the verge of… I don't know… crying?... I never know what I've done wrong.

I hit him once. And I thought I was going to die for it. I punched him. Hard. And what did he do… he stepped to the kitchen and got a tin of lager out of the cooler and went and sat on the front porch with blood running down his nose.

This is what got me though. Some woman across the street, I heard her talking to Floyd…

'What happened?'

A muttered reply.

'He hit you? And you put up with that? Why don't you get him thrown out?'

More muttering.

'Well you can always stay over my place if you want. I have a basement and a pull out bed – couch thing. You're always welcome.'

I heard him thank her. I heard him say that he appreciated the offer and might take it up one day. He said something about being tired.

I couldn't believe that he spoke like that. Now I'm the bad guy. I'm the one who beats his boyfriend. I'm the one who no one trusts. I'm the Fed. The Fed who carries a gun. I'm the one who slams doors and wont leave the house or socialise. I can't. I'm too hyped up! I need…

I need a fix.

I have to do special things to be allowed one… I have to please him… and if I don't do it right then I don't get my fix…

But he never hits me.

o-o-o

Sam

I have dirt covering my dirt. It's not easy keeping clean. I use the bathrooms at stops along the side of the road and I strip off and wash myself down, but I don't have clean clothes. I've lost weight again. My hair is dirty. My fingernails are short and sharp… my teeth are small and like fucking razors.

I'm being careful.

I'm hitching lifts across the country. But not everyone wants to pick up an obvious road kid. You can tell from a hundred yards that I've not slept in a bed in years… it feels like years anyway.

Some of the guys I get lifts from are OK. They don't do much but ask where I'm from and I tell them I'm from the West Coast, but I don't get specific with them. No need to. And on the few times they've asked more, I've lied more. I'm never in the car or truck long enough for it to matter.

There are few who will offer to buy me some food when we pull over and I never turn it down. I don't want to appear greedy, but sometimes I'm so hungry that a burger is gone in two bites.

There are a few who will drop me off with my stomach growling, outside a burger joint and they'll go in and get food and pretend they'd never seen me before. I'm OK with that too. That really is OK.

There are a few who after half hour of silence in the car will put a hand on my thigh. 'Do you want to play?' I've been asked that a few times and I shrug and say…

'Yeah…' But I try never to sound too enthusiastic. I don't want to be kept for ever by some bloke who is married to his sister… There's lots of weirdoes out in the wilds! So sometimes I get fucked over the hood of a car or maybe I blow the chap… Once I did what was required and he then told me that I'd driven him to the foul deed by looking at him with my eyes and by doing that thing with my mouth. He kicked me out into the street. I cut my arm, but that's all. You see there's lots of nasty people out there.

So now I'm standing in the toilets looking in a cracked mirror.

I have my hands holding onto the dirty wash basin and my jeans are around my ankles.

I don't know his name. It's not really necessary to know who's got their dick up your arse, but he seems sort of nervous so I try talking to him.

'Shut the fuck up you dirty whore.'

I've heard worse. I wriggle a bit for him and he tells me to stand still. He's hurting me!

'Owie! Take it easy big boy!'

I wake up on the bathroom floor with blood around my head and flies buzzing… Someone is having a piss. Whoever it is isn't the bloke who hit me… hit me hard I think. He's the wrong colour for a start. But he ignores me.

What a fantastic world.

I want to phone Floyd or Spencer, but Floyd isn't registered as a phone owner (no surprise there) and I can't get Spencer's address or phone number even when I cry or make threats. I don't know what else to do, but track them down this way.

Shit.

It's raining.

It's real hard to get picked up in the rain. They don't like stinking wet kids in their cars or trucks. I sit in the doorway of the restrooms with some paper towels pressed to my brow. I've a cut there. It's bled all over me and my hair is sticky with it.

Why do people have to be such bastards?

'Fucking cunts!' I shout at the passing traffic. 'You fucking cunts.' I mutter. 'I fucking wish I was dead.' I whisper. I only whisper it though, because I don't want some shit to think I mean it.

**a/n: Next chapter I move on. Sorry if this was a bit weird. **


	22. Chapter 22

22

The drivers of the two only vehicles in the rough area outside the restrooms had a few brief words. Sam didn't look over at them, but he heard a snippet of something… just sounds. They didn't sound like words, but Sam knew that his paranoia was building. Something inside of him had changed and it was hurting his head. He felt for the small lumps on his ribs, expecting them to have burst out of his body to have become spider legs, but they'd completely gone. This wonderful new beginning he'd been given didn't include being some sort of mutant spider boy. That at least was good news.

A bike flew by on the road and Sam listened to the approach and imagined Floyd rushing over to get him and pull him close and let him rub against him, but the sound grew louder, reached a peek and then died off again. Sam put his head in his hands and let a few sobs come out. He was in pain, he was tired, hungry and now he was cold and he couldn't spend the night here.

That problem was solved easily though. A car pulled into the parking lot. A couple of car doors slammed and feet crunched over the gravel.

'Son?' A voice.

Sam looked up at the uniformed cop standing there. He was going to tell the cop that he wasn't his son, but as he looked up his head got all swimmy and he thought if he'd opened his mouth he'd have puked. He kept his mouth shut but stared up at the cops.

The cops had received a call from a couple of worried motorists who had stopped off to relieve themselves at what was commonly known as The Five-O Rest Stop. The reason it was called that was lost in the annuls of time now, but it seemed to have something to do with a long ago arrest or murder or some such. It didn't matter now though. The cops were looking down that the thing sitting in the doorway of the rest rooms. It was raining which never made these out of the way places smell any better, but the cop standing nearest to Sam thought that a good deal of the stink was coming from this strange young man.

'You have a home to go to?' The cop now asked… and he got a better look at that face and knew what the answer was going to be.

'Yes sir. Waiting for my dad to come pick me up.'

Well not quite the usual answer, but close enough. 'And when will that be? Tonight? Next week? Somewhere in your imagination?'

Sam blinked and sighed. 'It's raining so… yeah.' That possibly answered everything.

'I think you either need to move on or accept a lift into town from me. What do you think?'

'I think you need to mind your own fucking business. I'm just sitting here doing nothing. I'm not hurting anyone.'

The cop hunkered down in front of Sam. 'We've had complaints. Can you stand? Can you walk?'

Sam nodded slowly. 'You're asking me to go out there in the dark and the rain? I'll catch some lung disease.'

They gave Sam a lift into town. They gave him a lift straight to the police station. They wanted to talk to him about something, but you know some cops are the good guys and Sam had actually, for once fallen on his feet. He was given something to eat. They could hear his stomach rumbling even if he'd said he wasn't hungry. They gave him hot sweet milky coffee to drink. They even offered him a bed for the night. Granted it was in a cell, but it was still a bed. They offered him some clean clothes to wear… nothing fancy… but something clean and dry. They would get his own stuff cleaned for him if he'd like. They said he could have a shower.

Sam sobbed. He cried because people were never nice for no reason and Sam was lapping up all of these offers and was now sitting clean, with a dressing on his forehead and a plate of food in front of him… and the price for this kindness, because this went a long way beyond the call of duty, was going to be huge and Sam didn't know that he'd survive what they'd ask of him. He mopped up gravy with a slice of bread and wolfed down a sweet lumpy dessert of some description and then he even had a cigarette offered… The situation seemed to be getting very odd.

'We need to know where you are going.' The nice cop finally asked.

'East.' Sam told them. 'I know I've a long way to go yet, not half way over and it seems to be taking forever.'

'You have family?'

'Hell yeah…' Sam gave them a calculating look over the tip of the cigarette. 'And if I don't get back there soon there's going to be amber alerts and all such shit going on. I don't want to cause them alarm… you know how family is.'

The cop who was sitting very relaxed behind his desk nodded. 'I can give them a ring. Let them know you're on your way.' He smiled a smile which suddenly didn't look friendly any more.

'You see, what happened was we were out west and they had all these plans on moving back east, so I packed a bag and moved out. I was living in squats and stuff… and then I'd had enough and decided that I was being silly and going back east was fine. But when I went home they'd moved already… gone! Can you fucking believe that? They just packed and left… so you see… I don't actually know the phone numbers.'

The cop nodded and pretended to be fooled by the lies. Some kids… you try to help them and they throw it right back into your face. It made him sad… and more than a little bit angry. 'Give me some names and I can locate them for you. Easy…' He pushed a bit of paper over the desk towards Sam. 'A name… general location. I'll have you home with your loving folks sooner than you can blink. Of course there's always the chance that you're a liar and you had been out in those restrooms selling your arse for a few bucks.'

'What?' Sam stood and looked appalled by the accusation.

'The guys who called in said you were laying in blood with your pants round your ankles. They said you were bleeding… not just from your disgusting little face, either.'

'I can explain it.'

'Sure you can. Sit down and explain how the nice guy offered you a lift but when you reached Five-O he needed a piss and so you got out to have one too… and he jumped you when you were washing your hands.'

Sam opened his mouth and closed it again. 'Well… sure.'

'And well sure, how many times have I heard that story from nasty little junky bitches like you…. So prove me wrong. Give me a name I can trace.'

o-o-o

Blood on his hands and clothes.

Floyd stumbled in the back door leaving bloody fingerprints on all the surfaces he touched.

He didn't want Spencer to see this. Spencer was away for at least a few days. It gave Floyd time to sort this crazy arsed mess out. He moved quickly… Walking through the kitchen and down the hallway to the stairs. He glanced at the doorway leading to a small downstairs bathroom, but he needed to shower. He needed to get every trace of blood off him.

Spencer isn't here…. He needed to keep reminding himself of that fact. Spencer would go ape shit if he saw all this blood. Questions would start to get asked if he wasn't careful… Not that he had a problem with Spencer knowing what he'd been up to. No problem with that in the slightest, but Spencer would complain, like the bitch he was and the complaints couldn't be handled the same way now…

And Spencer fucking well knew that!

Floyd punched at the wall in temper… The blood lust which had fuelled his night time escapade was now a dull ache, but his muscles still twitched and his eyes still had that odd look about them… His hands were still clenched into tight painful fists.

His clothes were ruined. This much blood can never be completely gotten rid of. There was always a taint. He had meant to change his clothes before he'd gone out, but the blood lust had hit so hard and fast that he didn't even take time to pick up keys. He'd spend the night running… running and pouncing and ripping and tearing. He'd filled his belly many times during the night… fill – empty – fill fill fill… On his hands hand knees he'd crept through and taken what he needed.

Only small glimpses of those things now…

Hands reaching out… bloody – towards a screaming face.

The ripping sound of ribs being torn.

Deep breaths… deep terrified panicked breaths.

A distant howl… and a closer yelp of surprise…

Hands… his hands… blood smeared… his face, just a reflection in a mirror or on a bit of glass… bloody, angry… and satisfied.

Now in the upstairs bathroom, Floyd ripped off his clothes and tossed them to the side. He'd burn them once he was clean.

The blood bubbled red down the hole in the floor of the shower. It made his heart pound harder, harder… skipping and jumping in his chest as though it was trying to escape and maybe find a sane body to live in.

He crouched, leaned forwards and scooped up that pinkish water as it washed the blood off him… he drank it right back again… using it as a mouth wash… as a drug. He scrubbed at his head, digging in his fingernails… cutting at his scalp. And then he stood with his back pressed against the cold tiles of the shower, tipped his head back and howled a long almost mournful scream.

'I have to stop this.' He muttered as his back arched and his hands pressed against the tiles. 'I can't let this happen. They'll find me. They'll know it's me. They'll come for me…'

The water seemed to run cold too soon. Floyd shivered slightly and looked at the small bathroom window. It was dark again. Had he been standing here in the shower all day? That wasn't possible. He wrapped a while towel around his middle, picked up his clothing and made his way down to the lounge. There was an open fire there. He could get rid of the clothing.

The telephone answer machine light blinked. Floyd ignored it. He hated telephones. There was something sly and murderous about them. He was at home. At home he needed peace.

He lit the fire, and threw the jeans and shirt onto the flames and prodded at them with the old iron poker which stood leaning on the brick fireplace.

There were three rings before the answerphone kicked in. 'Sorry we are unable to take your call right now. Please leave a message or call back later.' That was all. It was his own voice… a voice which had been happy and excited about life. About the prospect of having Spencer for ten beautiful years.

Not enough!

Ten fucking years?

Not enough, and yet far too long.

Floyd looked at his fists which were ragged, grazed, bruised. Spencer would ask questions… fucking always nagging and asking questions.

'We are looking for either Mr Flanders or Dr Reid. Can you please contact…. (a number was read out)… we have a young man here called Sam. He claims to know you.'

Floyd stayed hunkered down in front of the fire place. The poker was still held in his hand. He looked over at the telephone and frowned.

'Where the fuck is Spencer when you need him? What the fuck! That fucking job! If it wasn't for that fucking job I'd be able to control this shit… Damn him. Damn this shitting mess!'

He threw the poker onto the floor, walked to the phone socket and ripped the phone out of the wall. Not because he didn't want Sam here… Oh he wanted Sam! Maybe Sam could even help him. It would be someone to hit… lash out at… batter half to death… and Spencer would be nice and safe… oh yes, he wanted Sam, but the diseases you can catch from telephones… disgusting… he'd rather suck a strangers dick then put a phone to his ear… than use a phone not knowing who was listening in.

He walked back upstairs, dragged on some almost clean clothes, pulled on his boots and stood for a while with hands covering his eyes and his ears closed off to everything but that over active heart still threatening to explode in his chest.

Floyd was angry.

Floyd took his anger out on the small collection of hand made pots that Spencer had. He swung at them with the poker, knocking them from the shelf which he himself had put there for Spencer… and then he took out some of his rage on the walls… the floor… the soft furnishings…

_Ding dong_.

A fancy arse fucking door bell. Spencer liked it. He said it made it feel like a real family home… but this wasn't a real family home was it?

He threw the poker down to the floor, looked at the burning clothing, mostly gone now, and walked to the front door. He pulled it open without looking.

That kitten from across the road was standing there with a very pale face. Her bright blue eye makeup stood out like it was inches thick. Floyd could smell distress. He could smell tears and pain.

What the fuck did she want with him?

'What?' What else to say? The woman was a pain.

'The news… have you seen the news?'

And he hadn't. He'd spent the day standing in some kind of dream in the shower.

'I've not.' He attempted to put a curious expression on his face.

'Murders… but oh my… I was just checking that you're all right.'

She was being nosy? But the bitch lived alone… she wanted comfort. 'Ah… I'd ask you in but…'

'Oh I wouldn't.'

Too fucking right she wouldn't. 'Yeah.' Floyd looked at her through the screen door and tried to work out what to say next. He'd never been good with small chat unless he was threatening someone. 'Go home and lock your doors.' He suggested.

'It's dark.' A whimpering moan. 'They say that no one should be on the streets tonight. They're looking for a gang… Oh god.'

Why such a fuss… He'd not done anything in this neighbourhood. Why the fucking fuss. 'Tell you what, Spencer's not around, so I guess I could come over and check your locks and stuff… sleep on the couch… if that'd make you happier.'

'Oh you're such a lovely person. Everyone around here thinks you're so nice. But I don't want to inconvenience you.'

'My night time routine is already messed up… don't you think? I have a few things to do. Go home, put the kettle on. Coffee… dark, sweet, I'll be ten minutes.'

She smiled. Her teeth had been badly capped. He wanted to reach through the screen door and pluck the nasty things right out of her face… but he slipped his hands into his pockets. 'Ten minutes.' He repeated. And gave her a leer… which had meant to be a smile.

o-o-o

It had been all over the news. Some sort of rampage had happened the night before. There were no witnesses. No one saw anything until the morning when the bodies started to turn up.

It wasn't just that they were bodies. It was the condition they had been left in. They'd been torn apart. As it stood this had nothing to do with the BAU. Animal control had been called in. They thought that they were looking for a rogue bear which surely must have escaped from somewhere. No human could have done that much damage alone. There were seven dead. A family of four, wife, husband and two young children. A local well known prostitute (though some weren't so sure if this was connected as the whore didn't seem to have had internal organs ripped out.) There was a middle aged man who lived alone… He was found in his back yard in the morning and a teenaged boy… It was the last one which seemed the messiest. They couldn't ID him yet. His head was gone. He'd been so horribly mutilated that they were only guessing for now that it was a male… as it turned out, they were right.

Spencer sat on the edge of the bed looking at the television screen.

The job had ended early. They had caught the Unsub and the courts would now deal with him as they thought fit. Spencer nibbled nervously on his fingernails and hoped that Morgan, who was sitting on the next bed rubbing in some kind of oil on to the top of his head, wouldn't comment.

Hope is a wonderful thing.

Without hope you have nothing.

Spencer rubbed at his eyes and tried to look away from the sick looking faces of the people who were saying things like. 'It's horrific. They say a tiger ate a whole family.' Which was so much crap, but at least they would feel safe if they tiger proofed their homes.

He got up and started to walk to the bathroom.

'You doing OK there kiddo?' Morgan called out. He meant well. They all meant well.

Spencer turned and gave a tired look. It was about the only look he could give these days. 'I've, I've not been sleeping well. I'm just tired. I need to get home.' Ah… he wished he'd not said those last words. Too late now. 'Headache.' He repeated. He had a small stash of small blue capsules. He knew full well that he shouldn't take them! He knew! But knowing something is going to fuck with your head doesn't always stop you from doing something stupid. The little capsules were wrapped in cellophane and then wrapped in tissue and they were stuffed deep into a small zipped section of his bag. He didn't want them suddenly appearing like the cigarettes had. That would be one disaster too far. So he took his bag with him. It was nothing unusual. Morgan often took things into the bathroom with him… dirty magazines usually. He stood much like Sam had stood, looking into the mirror and holding tightly onto the basin. He could see the dark circles under his eyes, but Spencer knew that it wasn't just lack of sleep causing them. The lack of sleep was just an excuse.

He popped a pill… and swallowed some water from the faucet and finger brushed his hair.

Yes… he wanted to go home.

When he returned to the main part of the room, Morgan had switched off the TV and was laying back on the bed on his back with his hands clasped behind his head. 'You know that you don't have to go home to him, don't you?' Morgan smiled a large white toothed smile at Spencer.

Reid flopped down onto the messed up bed and rested his elbows on his thighs. 'It's not how you think it is.'

'Sure it is. You're covered in bruises. He might not be hitting your face but he's still hitting you. He's just wised up.'

Spencer hugged himself and let out a long sigh. 'He doesn't hit me… not as such. It's just… we both like it rough.'

Morgan's eyebrows did a little dance and he rolled onto his side to give Spencer a closer, harder look. 'Was I too gentle? I mean really Spencer, you _like_ to be bitten and burnt? Love making is meant to be gentle and sweet.'

Spencer nodded and flopped right back onto the bed. 'I never said I didn't like what you did.' He looked sideways at Morgan. 'I just wanted to explain… Floyd… he likes it rough and so do I… with him.'

'OK… And he's not going to tear you apart when you get home?'

Spencer reached out for Morgan, who reached out back… their fingers touched and then entwined. 'He's said nothing so far. I don't think he suspects a thing and even if he did? Morgan I'm telling you, I could spit in his face and he'd do nothing. I don't understand it. I really don't. Something has changed him.'

'But he bites you and that's OK?'

Spencer smiled and nodded. 'Yes… that's OK.'

'So when are you going to tell him?'

The alarm on Spencer's face was clear. He pulled his hand away from Morgan and shook his head. 'Tell him? Are you mad? Tell Floyd that I've been cheating on him with _you_? You want me to die?'

'You said he wont hurt you.' Morgan slipped off his bed and knelt next to Spencer's. 'You're not lying to me are you?' Morgan's hands moved quickly and expertly over Spencer.

'I'm not lying to you. I just don't want to hurt him.'

'You are crazy… you know that don't you?' A kiss… some friendly groping.

'The world can be a beautiful place.' Spencer suddenly said as Morgan treated Spencer to the last bit of touching they'd be able to do for a while. 'When everyone is in balance with themselves and the air is so clear and clean that you can see the horizon so easily that it looks as though you can reach out and touch it. It's so simple to say, I'll do this… I'll do that, but it…'

'Are you high?' Morgan wriggled up the bed and kissed the back of Spencer's neck

'Just confused about what I need to do.'

'You want _me_ to tell him.'

'No… I don't want him to ever find out. The way he is at the moment… I think it would break him.' Spencer let out a tired groan.

'You're that good that losing you will kill him?'

'Oh yes.' Spencer smiled and relaxed again. At least until he remembered what he'd just heard on the news. 'I do have to go home.'

'Wait till tonight. Come on… we hardly get any time together. He wont know we flew back in yesterday… and use an excuse… tell him you had paper work.' A pinch and a finger going places Floyd would kill Morgan for if he found out.

The medication took effect and Spencer rolled over onto his front. 'Fine… I need to be home tonight though.'

'I'll drop you off myself.'

'Not a good idea, Derek. A very bad idea actually. I said he'd not hit me. I can't promise the wont hit you though.'

He drove him with no real enthusiasm. Floyd was giving him everything he'd ever wanted, but it still wasn't where Spencer really wanted to be. There was no note this time for him. Nothing to say where Floyd was. The doors, front and back, were unlocked. The bathroom had been used and not cleaned. And obviously Floyd had had one of his rages. Spencer's pot collection was smashed. The couch was ripped. There were dents in the coffee table, part of the wall had lost lumps of plaster… gouges in the floor. Something had pissed him off. The kitchen wasn't looking too good either. There was blood. Bloody hand and finger prints on the white woodwork. He took his bag upstairs, unpacked… took his dirty clothes to the basement where they had the washing machine and then he started to clean up the blood.

Everything was going so wrong.

He had never thought that he would want to leave Floyd. It had never really been an issue, but now it was. Floyd was keeping secrets… doing things and thinking Spencer didn't know… Spencer was playing around behind Floyd's back, mostly out of frustration and spite. He should just pack and leave… but he couldn't… What he wanted was for Floyd to tell him what the hell was going on.

The phone was torn out of the socket. Spencer plugged it back in… and listened to the messages. There were a load from a small back town police station in Wyoming. They claimed to have Sam. Maybe that was where Floyd had gone? It made sense. The bike was still out side, but would Floyd have biked all the way to Wyoming from here? No… he didn't think so, but that didn't mean he'd made other arrangements. Spencer was tempted to call the cops himself, but he had no idea what Floyd had already told them. He didn't want to go upsetting the apple cart.

After cleaning up, Spencer sat on the back porch and had a can of drink and a smoke.

He felt oddly relaxed.

Morgan was good to him. Good _for_ him… no anger or rage or bad words. Spencer even wondered if he wasn't the scum Floyd always said he was after all. The breeze blew leaves over the back yard.

Somewhere a door slammed…

Floor boards creaked.

A hand rested on Spencer's shoulder.

Spencer yelped, dropped the cigarette and the can went flying.

'Guilty conscience?' Floyd asked. There was no amusement in his voice. 'Where the fuck have you been?'

Floyd looked delicious. He was clean and his clothes were almost clean too. There was that ever present smell of musk and man around Floyd but he did look damned good. Spencer jumped to his feet and smiled. 'At work.' He ran a finger over the front of Floyd's black waistcoat.

'Yeah… of course. Silly me… and I thought you flew back in yesterday.' He raised an eyebrow in question.

Spencer grimaced slightly. 'Paper work. I wanted to get it all out of the way.'

Floyd smiled and walked back into the kitchen. He was going to be OK. He'd not guessed. But Spencer knew that things were going to have to change soon. Very soon. Life couldn't go on being based around lies.

Spencer walked into the kitchen behind Floyd who was making coffee. Spencer moved in next to him. 'I'll make coffee.' He said almost in a sigh… almost as though he meant it.

The hand which rested on Spencer's hand was a hard, familiar, calloused hand. Spencer knew it very well. 'I can make my own fucking coffee, _whoreson_. Get out of my fucking sight.' Spencer moved back slightly. 'That's good. I want coffee and then I'm going to fuck you. Go and get washed. I don't want to smell filth when I'm hammering your arse.'

Spencer licked his lips but didn't move. 'You know, you could try a bit of romance sometimes.'

'Go and do what I've told you to do. We have Sam to figure out now. I guess you nosed through the messages?'

'Wyoming.' Spencer muttered.

'That's the place. Why aren't you washed? I want you down here ready in ten minutes. Get that arse up there and get clean. I'll be waiting on the couch.'

'And if I don't want to be used as a whore? If I turn and walk out of the door? Was it you who killed those people?'

Oh! Floyd looked actually offended by that! 'Me? You think I'd do something like that? Yeah… I killed them. Want to report me to someone? Junky motherfucking freak boy! Want to report me? I'd surely have to spill my guts and with my guts comes yours… go wash! You stink! You fucking stink like…' He didn't continue. Spencer was backing off quickly.

'I'm not a junky.'

'Fucking are! Fucking _are_! Yes the _fuck_ you are! You can deny it all you fucking want but I know.' Floyd tapped the side of his nose. 'Spencer, you'd be fucking horrified at what I know. Get clean.' He paused as Spencer turned and walked quickly away. 'Fucking slut!' Floyd called after him. 'And I know who it is! And I'm going to fucking kill him!' And Spencer broke out into a run.

Floyd sat on the couch with a cheroot in one hand and a glass of red wine in the other. How had it come to this? He'd done all he'd been asked to do. They'd used him as their bitch and then done this? Why! He had thought that his slate might have been wiped clean, but nope. They had to keep causing problems. They wanted him to fail.

They wanted the contract to come up.

They wanted Spencer dead. And next time Floyd didn't think he'd get him back again. There were a few options he now had… and he was going to try one of them out tonight.

Kitten across the road had great sympathy for Floyd. She'd told him that he would be better off without the abuse he constantly got from the Fed he lived with. She had asked Floyd if he was happy… really happy with the situation… and if he wasn't, why didn't he get out? She told him he was a good looking bloke… there had to be other nice guys out there who he could fall for… someone who didn't throw punches whenever he didn't get his own way.

That wasn't the problem though.

Spencer needed Floyd to be there. He needed Floyd to be slapping him around. He needed that or he would wander off and get it somewhere else and that's when things would get dangerous.

He hated this Spencer he'd been lumped with.

He hated himself.

Sam was maybe a small distraction, but would it last?

A fresh clean Spencer sat on the couch next to Floyd. He twisted his hands in his lap and nibbled on the inside of his lip.

'Do you know how much I want to smack your selfish greedy teeth out of your head?' Floyd asked him gently. 'I was so fucking careful what I asked for. So damned careful. I could have had things back as they had been, but it was a fucking mess. I thought… I wanted you to be happy.'

Spencer looked down at his toes and shrugged. 'I don't know what you want from me. I can't do anything right.'

Floyd handed him a glass of wine and sniffed. 'I need you to hand in your notice at work. I need you to get a flight out to Wyoming and collect Sam. I think you need to collect Sam first. I don't want you working with those cunting Feds any more.' Floyd turned to look at Spencer who had now started staring into the fireplace where the burnt up clothes lay as ash. 'I always thought that it was Hotchner I had to keep you away from. I thought my hatred for Morgan was because I was a racist mother fucker, but nope… you sly fuck… you've been doing Derek all along.'

The glass of wine was wobbling as Spencer's hands shook. 'It's not what you think.' He tried.

'You let Derek fuck you, and it's not what I think? What is it then Spencer? Did you bend over in the shower and Derek slipped his dick in when you were all nice and soapy? Was it an accident? Tell me. I want the details. I need to know how it's not what I think. Do you let him hurt you? Is that what it is?'

Spencer sipped on the drink… coughed and put the glass down on the end table. There was a coaster there ready. Seems that some of Floyd's pet hates would never go away. 'I was having nightmares. Derek… Morgan and I were sharing a room. Not through choice. I would rather room alone but that's how it was. I woke up once in the middle of the night and Morgan was on the bed with me. He was just holding me… helping me.'

'Then he helped himself _to_ you? Try again. I don't like that version of what happened. Start over. Why did you go behind my back and let Agent Derek Morgan stick his big black dick up your arse?'

Spencer stood up and faced Floyd. 'Why does everything have to come down to such filth with you? Why do you have to make things sound so disgusting?' He could feel the prickle of tears trying to escape and crying right now would not do him any favours.

'Because being fucked by that ape _is_ disgusting and filthy. You know how much I loath that man. Every fibre of my body wants to and always has wanted to see that man dead by my hands, and I've held off because he was someone you admired and someone I thought would never touch you… I thought he was safe in that regard. Spencer…' Floyd drank up the last of the wine in his glass and placed it to the side. 'I _love_ you. This shit… this… fucking around behind my back… why?'

Spencer knew why, but the reason sounded so stupid. It sounded like total insanity! It felt so right when it was just his head telling him these things. It seemed so right when his emotions were screaming at him… but putting it in words just sounded like a pathetic excuse… Which it was.

'Because I want you to do something about it! Rather than sit there getting off your face and calling me a whore! And yes I know I'm a whore! I know! I know what I've done! I've cheated on you and I enjoyed it! I loved every minute because I thought that was the answer! But you wont do anything about it!' Spencer was shouting… shouting loud enough for Floyd to reach out, making Spencer flinch back away from him, but Floyd just ran a finger over the front of Spencer's jeans.

'What do you want me to do about it Spence? There's nothing I can do. If you want to walk out of the door and never come back, I can't stop you… but I'd have to stalk you. And there's no need to flinch away from me. I'd not hurt you… I'd never hurt you, Babes.'

Spencer picked up the poker which had been put back by the fireplace and waved it at Floyd. 'Why not? You used to love hitting me. You used to get a good deal of pleasure from it.' The poker waved and wiggled until Floyd grabbed it and ripped it out of Spencer's hand.

'Stop fucking with me Spencer.' He threw the poker to the side and as he did it was Spencer's fist that caught him on the side of the face. It was a cracking thump too.

'Now hit me back! Hit me damnit! Do something to keep me here.'

Floyd stood slowly. It was a murderous look on his face. A face which showed all the hate he was feeling. All the rage right there right on the surface. 'I thought, stupidly, I thought I could do this. Spencer, if I raise my fist to you in anger I will kill you. This isn't some kind of joke or play or game, it's what will happen.' He turned and left the room with the side of his face smarting. Is this what he'd spent so long struggling to get? This bastard who just wanted to provoke and… 'I wanted things to be nice Spencer.' Floyd said as he turned at the door. 'I wanted you to be happy. I wanted Sam to be here and be happy. I wanted us to be a family, but you just can't accept it. You can't accept that I love you. You probably never have been able to accept that, but from the moment I saw you… I mean really saw you, not peeked at some kid sleeping in his bed, but that moment when you became that kid with those long coltish legs… that kid with the huge beautiful eyes… that… You… you… you did something no one else has ever managed to do… and that's resulted in this mess. I'm just trying to keep you alive, Spencer. You know I have problems flying.' Floyd snorted at his own private joke. 'Can you _please_ get Sam? Either fly out there and collect him, or wire him some funds to get here. Give him an address. We need Sam here. I need Sam here.'

'Why? So you can hit him?'

Floyd walked back over to Spencer and this time prodded his chest with a finger. 'All that shit I did to you. All that damned time. Those times I've smacked you until you bled from your fucking ears and you… you loved every minute of it.'

Spencer slapped Floyd's hand away from him. 'You realise that this is over don't you? I don't love you. I don't want you. I don't want you in my bed and I don't want to be in your bed. I know you're a monster. I cleaned the blood up after you. I know… I'm not going to report this because I don't have the stomach to see you whining and moaning about it. It's over. I'm going to pack my bags and I'm leaving.'

Floyd stood now with hands in his pockets. 'Go… go to the nigger. Go get your black fuck. I still have a job to do.' Floyd gave Spencer a small salute. 'He'll soon realise what a needy greedy motherfucking cunt you are. He'll soon find out. I just hope you don't destroy him in the process. I want to be the one to destroy him. Get the fuck off my property before I call the cops. Fuck off! Get out!'

Spencer stood completely gobsmacked. This wasn't the result he'd wanted. He wanted so desperately for Floyd to hit out. He wanted to feel the fist hitting his flesh. He wanted to taste the blood in the back of his throat where it had run back down from his mouth or his nose… He couldn't just be…

Floyd grabbed Spencer by the arm… he wasn't moving fast enough. The door was open… the screen door creaked…

'Floyd NO!' Spencer howled as he suddenly realised that he was on the outside now. 'This is insane.' The door slammed. Floyd stood with his back to it. His hands now in their tight fists at his side. The fingernails digging in enough to make them bleed. His heart pounding in his chest… a voice screaming at him…

_Hit the cunt! Hit the cheating bastard! Knock his fucking teeth out!_

Floyd slid to the nice clean hallway floor and wrapped his arms around his head. 'Fucking fuck.' He muttered. He wanted to know how something which should be so beautiful could end up like this. He knew Spencer was still out there. He knew that the cheating whore had his hands against the screen door wondering if he should come back in again. Floyd got up and walked to the kitchen. The coffee needed to be brewed again so he stood with a can of lager in his hand and looked over at the dark garden. He didn't hear the footsteps behind him. He didn't know anyone was there until the hand rested on his shoulder. No one should be able to sneak up on him like that. Another sign that Spencer was tearing him apart from the inside.

'I'm sorry. I don't know what else to say.' Spencer breathed over the back of Floyd's neck. The man knew how to apologise. He at least had that much in his favour. 'I don't want to leave. I just want things back how they were. I'll wire Sam some money so he can get the train home.'

'He'll buy drugs. You'll have to go and get him.'

'Not tonight. Floyd… please.' And small kisses on the back of Floyd's neck. 'Let me make it up to you.'

Floyd took a swig from the can of drink. 'I don't want you if Morgan's had you. Please understand it's nothing personal against you, but it's a shit load against that…'

'Then let me make you happy.'

'Thought you wanted to leave. You know that cute chick over the road? She told me I should kick you out. She thinks you're an abusive arsehole. The wheel sure turns huh? Do you think that… when I hurt you during sex… is that classed as abuse? What do you think? Is that abuse or just very painful rough sex?'

Spencer smiled and again kissed the back of Floyd's neck… 'It's rough sex.'

'Right… So if I'm fucking you I can do this?'

He spun on Spencer so fast that there should have been a sonic boom. The fist which connected with Spencer's face split skin on both Spencer's face and on Floyd's knuckles. Spencer howled and flailed back, but Floyd was there, grabbing and ripping clothing and pulling and touching… and it wasn't just pinching now… as Spencer tasted the blood in his mouth _finally!_ And Floyd grabbed the back of Spencer's hair and smacked his face on the kitchen table… 'You fucking slutting motherfucking whore! You nigger loving shit!' And Spencer was seeing stars spark in his vision as Floyd rammed at Spencer from behind. Those hands which seemed to be everywhere at the same time… those hands that gouged and scratched and pulled and squeezed and stroked. Blood flowed away from Spencer's vital organs and straight to his groin. There was no mistaking that this was what he'd wanted all the months they'd been home… all this damned time… and all he'd got was the occasional pinch or nibble. The language was being spat from Floyd's mouth in a torrent of abuse which would have made a normal man blush… 'Tell me what the nigger did.' Floyd kept saying… each time Spencer's face made contact with the table again… 'Tell me he was better than this… tell me you like him better… I fucking dare you to say it!'

Make up sex is wonderful. Violent make up sex is even better. At least for Floyd and Spencer. Floyd got to deliver all the damage he'd been needing to do to him for so long and Spencer could finally feel bad about letting Morgan screw him. Spencer hit back… he scratched and tore at Floyd's clothing… Floyd rattled Spencer's teeth, bit his ear until it bled, donkey punched Spencer and felt him go limp under him. The kitchen was a mess. There was coffee everywhere, bread slices in place you'd not normally find them… the electric hob had a smooth film of skin on part of it… there were clumps of hair in the sink, blood sprayed over the table and up the wall. There were bloody foot prints on the tiles… wall tiles… ceiling tiles… The rolling pin would never been used to roll out pastry again.

Floyd and Spencer held each other tight. They were laying on the floor under the kitchen table. They breathed hard and fast. They kissed and tasted each other's blood. They touched their still very sensitive places making each other yelp… they licked and moaned and Spencer cried.

'We're going to have to argue more often.' Floyd muttered. He'd somehow managed to find a smoke and something to light it with.

'Every day maybe.' Spencer replied. 'Floyd… I'll go and get Sam.'

Floyd lay back and smiled. 'And you will hand in your notice.'

'I…'

'And if I smell that fucker on you again I'll go over to his place, fuck his dog… and tear his heart from his chest. If you want to warn him of that you may.'


	23. Chapter 23

23

The whole situation felt wrong and very creepy to Sam. They kept on feeding him… until he began to feel like a kid being fattened up for some celebratory barbeque. They handed out packs of cigarettes and gave him a green disposable lighter to use. They let him sit in the rec room and watch TV for a while. It was mainly game shows though and Sam soon lost interest.

And they snapped questions at him. 'How old are you?' They kept on asking this and Sam kept on telling them that he was sixteen, but for some reason they didn't like that answer. They'd told him that someone at last had contacted them and were going to fly out… yes _fly_ out and come collect him. It would be a good few hours yet… eat up!

He'd never eaten so much in such a short space of time in his life.

'The boy slut needs to keep his energy up.'

The words weren't said directly at Sam, but he knew that they were talking about him.

'He needs to be locked up.' Again, not _at_ Sam, but they still gave him goosebumps.

Sam attempted to persuade them that he was feeling just great now and would wait for whoever it was coming to get him, outside. The rain had stopped. It wasn't too cold. He had his own clothes back… They were cleaner than before but still seemed to feel stiff and grubby. He guessed that they'd been so dirty that simple washing wasn't going to recover them and make them look like new.

They told him…

'He said not to let you out of our sight.' Then. 'That you're a runaway.'

And that was so unfair and not true! He'd not run away at all! He'd been deposited in the middle of nowhere and was just trying to find his way back. Was there a point in explaining this? Nope… no point. To them he was some kind of hooker… (they were mostly right) – and they were going to keep their eyes on him.

'I don't understand why you wont let me go. I wasn't doing anything wrong.'

They explained in calm words that he'd been selling his arse. That he'd caused them to drive all the way out to Five-O and scrape him up and bring him back here.

'We don't like vagrants. We like even less beggars and people like you. We don't want them on our streets.'

Again the goosebumps. Again that creepy feeling.

'So what happens to the kids who don't have some super hero to come collect them?' Sam asked… sweetly… as he rubbed nervously at that warm place between his legs. It was comforting. It was nice. He ignored the dirty looks. They'd never had their hands there. How would they know how good it was?

'You don't have to worry yourself about that.' Sam was told, but he _did_ worry about that. He worried a lot. If Floyd turned up and had a tantrum they were likely both going to get locked up. Do they hand kids (not that he was a kid) but do they hand them over to people who are so obviously insane? Because no matter what situation Floyd was put in, eventually that false front he tried to keep up would fail and he'd show his true colours.

'I'm not worried.' Sam said in a worried voice as he slipped a hand down under the fabric of the jeans he had on.

'You know I'll have you for indecent exposure if you put your hand further down the front of your damned jeans?'

Sam's hand stilled, but he didn't remove it. It was his body and if he wanted to stroke it and feel it then that was his choice. He wasn't exposing himself.

The hours dragged. Everything he did they watched. They watched not in a very friendly way either. It was like they were waiting for him to admit that he'd done something really bad. He asked again if he could go outside and wait… again he was told he couldn't. He was told that they couldn't risk it. They didn't want him running off again. 'It's a dangerous world.' They told him. 'We don't want someone turning up to get you and having to explain to them that you got a bullet in your head. That wouldn't be a good outcome now would it?'

He didn't ask who would shoot him for sitting on a bench outside the police station. He swallowed and nodded and agreed with them. It really wasn't what Sam wanted to happen… even if it felt as though the cops were willing him to make a break for it; to do something _real bad_ and have to be stopped – fatally. So Sam sat and rocked and sometimes a small whimper left his mouth by accident. They followed him into the restrooms when he had to have a pee. They stood next to him at the urinal and peed right along with him… Sam's eyes locked on the tiles in front of him even though he desperately wanted to see if they were looking at what he had in his hands. And he was sure that they were. He wanted to accuse them of harassment, but that would look silly and selfish seeing as they'd fed him and washed his clothes for him and even given him a bed for the night.

There was the occasional shove.

The odd 'Queer' word hissed as he walked glumly down the passage back to the very boring rec room.

On the surface this place looked nice. No one had actually hurt him. They'd found Floyd (damn he hoped they were telling the truth there) and they'd let him smoke, but if he walked too close to the door which said EXIT then he was dragged back and told to go wait somewhere else and so when someone did finally turn up for him, he was crashed out asleep on a couch in the rest room… A blinking light over the door was an obvious sign that even though there was no one physically in the room… He was being watched as he twitched and yelped and touched himself in his sleep.

'Disgusting animal.' An officer muttered as he watched the screen.

o-o-o

The officer on the front desk looked up as a tall, young man, walked in the main doors.

He looked nervous.

The officer gave Spencer a very hard glare. It was quite obvious that his person had been mugged at some point fairly recently. Either that or it was yet another bum wandering in hoping for some good luck. He'd get none today. The officer could see the slightly dirty hair, the bedraggled and odd looking clothing, the half closed eye with colourful bruises around it. He could see the cut on the man's brow, the swelling from where he'd hit it on something… numerous times… His lip had a couple of scabs, one of them looked as though it had been bleeding just before he'd walked into their cool, clean station. The officers nostrils flared as he tried to take in the smell which this bum was obviously bringing in with him.

Spencer moved to the counter and tried to smile. It hurt. He didn't try again for now.

'I'm here to pick up Sam Trent.' Spencer said. He put his hands in his pockets to stop himself from cracking his knuckles or picking at the scabs on his inner arms.

'What are you? His pimp? Get the hell out of here you damned scum bag.'

Spencer wanted to raise an eyebrow, but he knew from recent experience that it would hurt. 'I'm… I've… you called. You phoned. Asked someone to come and collect him. I flew in from…'

The officer raised a hand to silence Spencer. 'Well, well, well… the word gets around doesn't it. Have any ID on you? Do you have a name? Because you sure as hell don't fit any description of someone coming to pick up that dirty little whore boy.'

Pain was no longer an issue. Spencer pulled out his drivers license and slapped it on the counter. 'Dr Reid. You somehow managed to get my home address and that's something I would like to discuss with you because it is actually not readily available as I'm a Federal Agent. As it happens I'm not on duty and I'm not going to flash my badge and make demands, but you're going to get Sam for me, give me any papers I need to sign and then you are going to apologise for assuming I was anything other than what I am.' Spencer used his most authoritative voice, but even if these arrogant self righteous cops couldn't hear the worry in Spencer's voice, he himself certainly could.

'Sorry but you're not what I expected.' The cop said as he picked up the phone and pressed a couple of buttons to make an internal call.

'You expected the dark suit? I said I'm off duty.'

'Sick leave?' The cop indicated Spencer's face and then snapped something into the phone. 'The Fed is here for the kid.' There didn't seem to be any reply or a need to listen to one if there had been. The phone was slammed down again. 'I'll get you a coffee.'

Spencer shook his head and twitched a smile, which was all he dared do. 'We will get coffee out.' Spencer told the cop. 'Failing that it can wait until we get back to the airport.'

It was a blur which raced across the room and threw himself into Spencer's arms. Sam had wrapped his arms and legs tightly around Spencer and squashed his face up tight into Spencer's neck. 'Oh my god, am I glad you're here or fucking what?' Sam wailed. 'Get me out of this place. Where is Floyd? Why do you look like you got hit by a bus? Why are we still here… come on! I wanna get out of this shit hole.'

It was a nice reception. Sam was at least partially glad to see Spencer. It could have been a disaster had Sam been in one of his sullen moods, but so far all was almost going well. Sure they were getting funny looks from the cops. This wasn't really the way a sixteen year old lad would react. There was something off kilter with it all, but as Spencer had his ID there was little they could do about it.

'Go outside and wait.' Spencer managed to pull Sam away from himself. 'Go sit in the sun.'

'Can't. They said they'd shoot me if I did.' Sam looked and sounded perfectly serious.

'Go and wait outside. No one is going to shoot you… are you officer?' Spencer looked over at the cop who was giving Sam and Spencer dark almost hateful looks.

'No. Of course not. Go out in the sunshine sonny. The doc here needs to sign some papers and he'll be right out.'

'Here!' Spencer threw the keys to the rental he had outside. 'Wait in the car if you want.'

Sam gave a nod and was out of the door like something was chasing him… Spencer gave the rocket propelled Sam a frown and then turned back to the cop.

'He's retarded.' The cop announced.

Spencer shook his head. 'Absolutely not. He's actually gifted, just not very well balanced sometimes.'

'And why are Feds interested in him, if you don't mind my asking.'

Spencer signed his name on the bottom of the form and placed the black pen back down on the wooden counter. 'I do mind.' Spencer told him. 'Thank you for keeping hold of him.'

'Is he dangerous!' The cop called as Spencer started to walk away. 'Was there a price on his head? Is he a murderer? Rapist?'

The cops didn't get an answer.

Spencer found Sam sitting in the rental, rummaging through the glove compartment. He snapped the little hatch door closed as Spencer slid in the driver's side.

'Fuck! It's so good to see you! I had a horrible feeling they were going to kill me. I mean really Spencer, really. They were just waiting for the moment.'

Reid placed a hand on Sam's thigh and again tried to smile. 'Did they hurt you?'

'Hell no! That's the odd thing. They fed me up though. Well fucking creepy. But they watched me all the time. Wouldn't even let me have a piss on my own and you know how hard it is not to look at other peoples dicks when they have a slash? You know to compare and stuff?'

'I've never been tempted.' Spencer started up the motor. 'Do you want to go somewhere to relax and have… ice cream? Or straight back to the airport? It's an hour drive and then a six hour flight and another hour the other end. A long trip.'

'Is Floyd going to be the other end? Why didn't he come too? Is everything all right? did he do that to your face?'

'Floyd freaks out when flying. This was the quickest way to get to you and not die in a plane crash. He will be at home when we get there. Everything is fine. All is good. The house is lovely and there's plenty of room for you.'

'Oh now I feel like the spare wheel. You sure there's room?'

Despite the pain it caused, Spencer smiled. 'Absolutely certain. You've been missed. We've both been looking for you. Thank goodness we have you back now.'

'So nothing bad going on?' Sam looked dubious.

'Nothing at all. It's the perfect neighbourhood. Lovely people. Not far from the town proper… the city outskirts. There's even a motorbike which Floyd managed to get for you. Your room is ready and waiting. A family again.'

'The most twisted fucking family ever. Get your hand off my leg unless you intend blowing me.'

The hand stayed there for a while though. It squeezed Sam's leg tightly.

'Please don't ask if I want to play… not unless you've got twenty bucks stuffed in your underpants.' Sam placed one of his hands over Spencer's. 'You know it's a long trip… a few hours lost… Floyd wont know.'

And the hand was gone from Sam's leg in a flash. 'Oh he'd know.' Spencer muttered. 'Honestly Sam, I'd take a slapping for it, but you?'

A look of shock passed over Sam's face. 'You _want_ me?

__Spencer drove out of the parking lot without saying more on the subject.

However Sam wanted to know more. 'Really? You want me? You really want me? The only reason you don't want me is because Floyd would hit me for it?' He remained silent maybe for half an hour and stared out of the window. 'How do you know he'd hit me?' He asked in a sly small voice as he placed a hand on Spencer's leg.

'Because I know.' Spencer pushed Sam's hand away and carried on driving.

'So what did you try to touch me up for? Why tease? What was that all about?'

Spencer said nothing but looked at the empty road ahead. At least they weren't getting stopped in traffic.

'Silence wont shut me up. I'll tell Floyd that you were after a fumble. I'll tell him.'

There was a quick glance from Spencer and then his eyes were back on the road again. 'If I wanted to molest you I would take you to some dirty back street restroom.'

'Oh aren't you fucking hilarious. I'm still telling him that you were after something.'

Spencer opened the car window and breathed in the fresh air. It was a lovely feeling getting cold air on his face which was feeling hot.

o-o-o

Floyd took his bike out. It was a nice evening with only a small chance of rain. The air was cool and like Spencer he loved the feeling of the cold air on his overly hot skin. He had on leathers for this trip. After the time back in hell when the totalled the bike and ripped up his side, he'd learnt a lesson in what to wear when biking. One of his hand stitched cotton shirts just wasn't good enough.

He pulled up outside a small but smart house and pulled back tight into the shadows. He didn't want to be seen, at least not yet anyway. No point in letting the bastard know he was here waiting. There were no lights on in the house so Floyd assumed rightly that no one was home. He had contemplated letting himself in, but that would only make the homeowner angry before words were even exchanged. So Floyd waited with such patience that he thought he should have been in receipt of a big shiny medal or an award certificate of some kind. He would gladly accept it and even have an acceptance speech ready and waiting.

Floyd saw Morgan return. He saw him get of his own bike and walk up the steps to the front of his neat little home. At least it was neat for now. Floyd wondered if it would still be after he'd left. He was excellent at sneaking up on people. Floyd had spent a virtual lifetime doing exactly that! Morgan didn't know that someone was behind him until he unlocked his door and a hand rested on his back between his shoulder blades and then pushed him forwards.

Under normal circumstances Morgan would have not been so easy to pounce on, but it was perhaps Floyd's lucky day. Morgan stumbled forwards and the door slammed behind him. Floyd stood with his back to the door looking across the lounge where now all sorts of scenarios were playing through his mind.

Derek swung around, but he already knew how it was without having to look. He could smell that stench which Floyd carried around with him everywhere. If he could bottle the stuff it could have been used to kill bugs on the roses… At least that was Morgan's opinion on the man who had forced his way into his safe place. His home. The place he should always be secure.

'What the hell do you want?' Though Morgan had a horrible idea that he knew already. He took a good look at Floyd, checking him out for blood.

'I'm on my bike tonight, so no alcohol. A nice sweet, dark coffee would be great though. If that's not too much trouble?'

Derek took an uneasy step backwards. 'That's not what I meant. Stop playing your games and tell me what you want.'

'What I want and what I get are very different. Nice place. Surprised they let it out to you though. Wouldn't have thought they'd want your sort bringing down the neighbourhood. Coffee, Derek… please.'

Again Derek took a step back. 'Get the hell out of my house. Get off my property. Now!' Sly sneaking steps back…

'I'm not here to cause trouble. But telling me to get out of your house after what you've done is a bit… well I actually find it hurtful and more than a tad insulting. You look _hot_ Derek. Is something bothering your conscience? Have you got something or _someone_ on your mind? Do you want me to go and knock on Hotchner's door and blurt out my heart rending story. It's not a good one. You'd not come out looking so cool, Derek. I know you have an image to keep up. Surely it's easier to talk to me and make me a coffee than have to go through all that shit?'

Derek turned and walked quickly towards the small kitchen. 'You have no right to force your way into my home making threats. I will have you removed if you don't leave on your own. I don't want to fight you, Floyd.'

'You will lose. Please… give me a reason not to tear you apart. Just one damned good reason.'

Floyd didn't move from his place in front of the door. He heard the familiar sounds of someone preparing coffee. That was good. Derek was being sensible at least. Floyd slipped a cheroot out of his pocket and lit up using his beloved silver lighter. He'd nearly finished when Morgan re-appeared with coffee in a large white mug. He placed it on his glass topped table… no coaster, but none really necessary. 'We need to talk about Spencer.' Floyd said. He saw Morgan twitch slightly when the name was finally said. The reason was finally out in the open.

'Where is he? If you've hurt him…'

'Wyoming.' Floyd dropped the cheroot butt onto Morgan's laminate wooden floor and ground it out with a heel. It left a scorch mark which would forever remind Derek of this conversation. 'And if I've hurt him… well… I'd have to blame you.' Floyd left his place at the door and picked up his coffee mug. 'No one takes what is mine. No one. I thought I could at least trust that you'd not do something like that. You know full well that I detest every bone in your body, but I've mostly left you alone because I didn't think we'd ever have to have this conversation. I will encourage Spencer to report it as rape.' Floyd sipped on the coffee around a smirk which had suddenly arrived on his face. 'Or at least that you molested him in some form. I know what you did to him. He told me every detail. So what I need from you is a fucking good excuse why I shouldn't rip your balls off with my teeth.' Floyd sipped again at the drink. 'I'm waiting. I only have erm… around another nine hours I would imagine. Nine hours to get it all off your chest.'

Morgan looked around the room… he looked at the drawer where he had his gun. He looked at the baseball bat next to the couch. He looked at the heavy marble clock on the mantle. 'Why is Reid in Wyoming?'

Ah… he was bothered about Spencer… 'Sweet.' Floyd said. 'More concerned about the man you thought you could fuck behind my back than what I'm going to do to you. Or at least what I propose I will do to you if you don't tell me what I want to hear. The reason he is in Wyoming is absolutely none of your business. Derek! Agent Derek Morgan! I need you to tell me why you fucked my boyfriend! Why did you try to take from me the one thing I hold more precious than my own life? Why did you think you'd get away with it? How did you possibly think that I'd not taste you on him? I lick every crevice on his lovely body… I could taste you, but a long time before that… it was the smell. That disgusting smell of yours. That stink of cologne used to cover up the real rotting stink of decay that you carry around with you.'

'If something has happened to Reid…'

'Shut up with calling him Reid. Stop your concern. I said I've not hurt him. Not because of this anyway. If I've beaten his brains out it's because Spencer is a whore and will go with anyone who shows him some form of affection. He craves love. It's draining! In so many ways is it draining! In a way he's worse than Sam… Sam at least will take money for what he does… You've not told me why you did it though. Spencer was happy. He had a life partner. Why did you cross the line and try to take him from me?'

Morgan stood with his arms crossed over his chest. 'The last couple of months we've had a lot of jobs away. Reid and I shared rooms.' Morgan went and flopped down in the couch. 'He has nightmares as you probably know, but these were worse than ones I've seen in the past. They terrified me, man! I thought he was having a seizure the first time I woke up to it… The shaking and the noises… I've never seen anything like it. I comforted him. Just put my arms around him. That's all it was at first.'

Floyd walked across the room and sat in a bamboo chair which was up against the wall. He rested his forearms on his thighs and dangled his hands between his knees. 'Carry on. How does comforting someone after a nasty dream end up with you screwing him?'

Morgan shook his head. 'You want an excuse and I don't have one. I'm not going to apologise to you, if that's what you expected. It happened. It happened a few times. I was gentle. I showed him what it was like to have someone make love to him and not just use him.'

'You have no idea what I feel and how far I would go to show him what I feel for him. So you don't bite and scratch when you fuck… so you buy him a rose and take him out for dinner. That's sweet… that's very sweet. It's fucking pathetic… that's what it really is. It's fucking sick and pathetic. What you have managed to do is to ensure that Spencer will be leaving his job. Don't expect him to be coming back because he wont be. I will be keeping a close eye on what he's up to. Laying down with you isn't one of those things.'

'Don't talk to me like I'm a stupid high school kid and you're his parent! It's not up to you what he does and who he sees!' Morgan now got up from the couch and that baseball bat was in his hands… and by the expression on his face he meant to use it.

'Hit me with that and it'll be the very last thing you ever do. I'm using a lot of restraint here. I'm not coming to you like a parent, I'm coming to you like a lover who has been cheated on.'

'Oh please!' Morgan laughed out the words.

'Word of warning…' Floyd stood up and walked towards the door. '… touch Spencer again and I _will_ kill you. I will kill you in a way you never thought possible. I'll do it and I'll make Spencer watch. Please don't think that I'm bluffing, because if you had even the slightest idea of the damage you have done you'd be on your knees begging forgiveness. Next time I walk through your door, Agent Derek Morgan, it will be to kill you. I hope for your sake that never has to happen.' Still with his back to Morgan and now opening the door. 'Don't call. Don't write, don't perv at him. Leave him the fuck alone.' Now on the door step Floyd turned to Derek. 'He only let you do it because he was high. He's been taking drugs to try to stop the headaches. You're not special Derek… you were part of a drug fuelled mistake.' And Floyd was walking away… down the steps and out to his bike.


	24. Chapter 24

24

It was a beautiful day. The sort of day where you just _have_ to go to the park and have a picnic. It was the weekend. Spencer was away still in far off Wyoming. He'd not be home until late afternoon at the very earliest.

Floyd packed up a picnic and placed it all carefully in the panniers on the bike. He then took a deep breath and walked across the quiet street to where Kitten (at least that's what Floyd called her) lived. It was a situation which Floyd didn't often find himself in, but he needed a chick with him today. There was a door bell and a knocker on the blue front door at Kitten's place. He chose to use the knocker. It kind of felt like the sort of day where door bells would give him an electric shock. From inside the house he heard footsteps, a shadow over the small window set into the door and then the door opened to a smiling face.

'Floyd! Are you all right?'

It wasn't that he looked like he wasn't, but it was the first time that he'd voluntarily talked to Kitten without her talking to him first. 'It's a great day for a picnic.' He tried on that smile of his again and then stopped when she began to look slightly alarmed. 'I was wondering if you'd join me? We don't get many days as perfect as this. I've got the food packed on the bike and a spare helm.' He looked at her and she looked back and said nothing, but her mouth twitched slightly.

She took a step outside of the door and took Floyd by the arm. 'You know I was this close…' She demonstrated with her thumb and forefinger, '… to calling the cops. That was a hell of a fight the pair of you had. Are you OK?'

He raised an eyebrow. 'Sometimes things get a bit rough.' He didn't explain further. 'So you're saying you'd rather not join me. I'll understand. We hardly know each other.' He tried that smile again and wished she'd take her had off him. He knew where females put there hands when they were lonely and he didn't want that stink on him. 'Don't worry.' He moved back and the hand slipped away.

'I'll get my shoes and a jacket. I've never been on the back of a bike before. I hope you're not going to tip me off the back.' Now she was smiling. She had a date with her new gay best friend. The weekend was going to be a good one. 'Spencer isn't around is he?' She suddenly asked… maybe a small amount of fear crossed her face.

It amused Floyd to a very large degree that this stupid bint trusted him and not Spencer. That was one hell of a funny thing to happen. 'He's in Wyoming, picking up a friend. He'll be gone until later… he flew out yesterday. Not sure how long he'll be.'

'As long as I don't get you in trouble. I don't want him thinking…'

Floyd shook his head. 'Really isn't his business who I invite out for a picnic is it? Go get your jacket and a pair of boots on your feet. Need to be safe. And I'll never let you fall off the back. You're going to have to hold on tight though… and don't scream in my ear.'

So that was why Floyd and Amanda were sitting there on a red and black blanket surrounded by food and soft drinks. (No alcohol if he was on the bike… didn't want to get pulled over for something so stupid. He also didn't want to appear to he drunk. Not today.) It was a nice place to sit, under the shade of a tree. There were kids cycling around playing games, kids and adults with kites… and over the way, not so far off… a soccer game with little chaps was going on.

This was the reason Floyd wanted to be here today. He wanted to watch the children… Specifically there was one particular kid he wanted to watch.

'You like children?' Amanda asked Floyd as he was sipping out of a can of coke.

He spluttered and spat onto the grass. 'What?'

'You like children? Don't you ever wish you could have one of your own?' She asked with slight confusion on her face.

Floyd nodded and gave her a sad look. 'I had a daughter. Rosa. Pretty little thing. She died… poor kid. Murdered. I don't think I want to ever risk feeling the pain I felt that day again.' He wiped at a no-existent tear and pinched at the bridge of his nose. 'Life moves on, but sometimes it's hard. I don't know how these parents can let their children out of their sights. The world is such a dangerous place, Amanda. You've seen those news reports… such a horrific and dangerous place. Who would hurt a child? Who would do that?'

'Oh my god.' Amanda put a hand to her mouth to cover up the distress she was suddenly feeling. 'I'm so sorry. I didn't know. I shouldn't have said anything. Did they catch who did it?'

'Nope. Never did and now it's not even being investigated. Life is confusing sometimes, don't you think?' The fact that he himself had torn his daughter apart didn't fill Floyd with any shame. Sometimes things just had to be done. 'I like watching kids though. I like to see them grow up and imagine how they'd turn out; given the right chances.'

Amanda wanted to cry. She wanted to throw her arms around Floyd and hug him close, but he didn't seem very tactile. He always seemed slightly nervous and maybe even a bit shy. They fell into silence for a while. Amanda wanted to start to talk about something different but didn't know how to… and Floyd needed a bit of peace and quiet to send some messages over to the kids playing ball.

_Over here Jacky boy… over here… come and get some candy… a drink… run, run, run… come to Uncle Floyd… come over and get some candy… daddy wont mind. Daddy has Rossi there to amuse him… come on Jack… come to me Jacky._

He kept up his relentless barrage. It should be easy. Jack was a little kid and kids were very easy to manipulate.

The soccer game finished. The kids raced off in little groups to have fun in the sunshine and the parents watched on adoringly. Floyd kept a smile on his face… he tried for a lazy relaxed expression rather than a frantic _get your arse over here little boy_ expression. Floyd knew that Hotchner kept a close eye on his kid, and too right! So many dangers around, but here was Jack, pumping his little legs in Floyd's direction, and Floyd had sat with his back to the tree and Amanda blocking Hotchner's view of him. He'd see soon enough, but that was OK. Actually that was great. He wanted, needed Hotch to see him. He wanted Amanda to see this part of the game too.

'Hey!' The kid stood in front of them smiling. 'Uncle Floyd!' He did a kiddish wiggle and grinned.

Floyd looked up as though surprised to see him. 'Jack! Been playing ball? Who won?' A nice interest in the kid. A nice polite sweet interest.

'Didn't keep score.' Jack told Floyd.

He introduced Amanda. He pulled a small pack of candy from his pocket and held it out. Jack's daddy was calling him. Calling him lightly at first and then with a slightly more annoyed tone to his voice. 'Take the candy, Jack.' Floyd wiggled it under the small boy's nose. 'It's for you.'

'JACK!' Hotchner had broken out into a run.

Floyd wasn't sure if Hotch realised who it was Jack was talking to yet. He thought maybe he didn't and so Floyd stood up and put an arm around Jack's shoulder. 'Daddy is calling you.' He spoke softly, kindly. 'Did you get all the gifts I sent you?' Floyd asked. 'If not, you must ask daddy about it.'

'JACK!' Now Hotchner knew very well who his precious little boy was talking to. 'Jack! Go to Dave. Now!'

Big sad eyes looked up at Floyd. Floyd bent over slightly and kissed the top of Jack's head. 'You better go and do what daddy wants. I don't want you getting into trouble.'

The small boy moved away and then moved back again quickly giving the loving _Uncle_ a big hug. 'Thank you!' The candy was held tightly in his sweaty hands and then he turned and ran towards where Dave was standing looking like he owned the world. Jack ran past his dad, giving him just a small unhappy look and on to where he had been told to go. Hotchner strode over to where Floyd was standing now with his arms crossed over his chest, the sun shining down making a halo of light around his hair. Amanda stood next to him with an alarmed look on her face, wiping her hands on the side of her jeans.

'Flanders.' Hotchner snarled the words like it was some nasty disease, and in Hotch's eyes it was. 'You will keep away from my son.'

Floyd put on a confused expression for the benefit of Amanda. 'He came over to me, Aaron. I didn't even know he was here. You need to keep a closer eye on him.'

The punch Hotchner delivered was a good one. Floyd could have easily have blocked it and followed it up, but he chose not to. He instead stumbled back with a hand over his chin and sat back onto the food with a splatting thump. His teeth snapped together rather dramatically and his eyes went wide with shock.

'Oh my god!' And Amanda was kneeling next to him wanting again to hug him but knowing that she shouldn't. 'That was hardly necessary! The boy came over to us! You should keep him on a leash if you don't want him to wander off!'

Hotch glared at the woman and then back at Floyd. 'If you come near my son again…'

'He came near me! I'll get a fucking restraining order out on you if you raise a hand to me again! Not my damned fault that your parenting skills are so crap! I'll picnic where I damned well want.'

'Stand up! Stand up and face me.' Hotchner was shouting… raging. He didn't want the monster any where near his child.

Floyd stood slowly, but out of smacking range. He wiped off some of the food which had squashed on to his leathers and glared at Hotch. 'I'll have you for assault, you over bearing bastard.'

It seemed to be only now that Hotch noted that Floyd was here with a nice looking woman. He quickly looked around and then turned back to Floyd again. 'Where's Reid?'

'Why? Want to hit him too? Want some excuse to bully my boyfriend too? It's not enough that you spy on him and lust over him? You have to know his every movement too? He's in Wyoming. He's picking up Sam. Remember Sam? That kid you said you'd take in and look after and care for? Does that ring any bells? That kid you let down and bullied like you bully everyone and everything around you?'

'Just keep away from my boy.' Hotch spat at Floyd.

'Then you're going to have to keep away from _my_ boys… don't you think? Get your nose out of my business and go beat up on your own kid, you fucking bully. I'm not afraid of you. Really I'm not. Spencer is handing in his notice. I'm not having him hanging around you abusive cunts any longer.'

Hotch was very good at not showing his anger, but today it seemed that he was tipping over the edge from good old stoic Hotch to someone who desperately needed to go to anger management classes. 'Abusive?' He shouted in Floyd's face.

Floyd backed off and scrunched some of the food under his feet. 'Ask Agent Derek Morgan what I'm talking about. You fuckers use your badge and authority to do what you damned well please with no regard for what you're doing to those around you. Open your eyes Aaron. Open your damned eyes and ears and see what's going on. The only member of your team who hasn't made a move on Spencer is Dave and that's because he's too fucking old to get it up… or because he fucks his dogs. Not sure which it is.'

'Get out of here. Get the hell out of this place. What are you doing here anyway?'

'Excuse me.' Amanda spoke up. 'I don't know what your problem is but we were just having a picnic. The lad came over of his own accord. You can't hit someone just for being polite. Goodness! Come on Floyd. We don't want to stay here now. The day has been ruined.' She stated to pack up the things and place what she could back into the bags they'd carried over from the bike.

'Madame, you have no idea of the danger you're putting yourself in by being here with this man.'

'Floyd a danger? P-lease. He's a pussy cat. You obviously don't know him very well. Come on Floyd. Let's get out of here, go home and have a bottle of wine.'

'I'll be in contact.' Hotch hissed as he backed slowly away.

'Sure you will. Harassment is your game isn't it? Wont change anything. I still don't want you. You're too old. I like them… _young_.' Floyd glanced over to where Dave and Jack were standing and then hunkered down to help pack up. Floyd looked up at Hotch's slowly retreating back. 'Ten years Hotchner. When he's sixteen. I'll be ready and waiting.' He spoke quietly. No point in alerting Amanda to this. He grinned inwardly. A point scored for him… he hoped. At least he didn't lose it and rip Hotchner's head off. That would probably have been an error.

Floyd apologised to Amanda for the trouble. He said that he couldn't understand what the man's problem was. He knew that you had to keep a close eye on your kids… (wipe of the tear again) but Hotchner was really over zealous and more than a bully. 'The poor kid. My heart aches when I see what is going on there. He'll turn into a stuffed shirt like his father…' He then went on to tell Amanda how it was entirely Hotchner's fault that Jack's mother had been killed. 'Dreadful situation and they come down on my back for loving Spencer… What's wrong with some people.' That, Floyd thought was enough for one day. The woman had his sympathy. That was all that was needed. She could see that Floyd wouldn't hurt a fly, but so far she'd not seen the mess Spencer's face was in. However… easily explained when Spence had such a dangerous job with such a bastard for a boss! Easy! No sweat.

They parted company outside of Floyd's house. He didn't invite her in even though the suggestion of a bottle of wine had been mentioned. 'I need some time alone.' Floyd had muttered. 'Before Spencer gets back.' A small wry smile finished the job. Kitten went back to her place with a puzzled and sad look on her face.

Floyd put the bike away. Cleaned up the mess from the picnic… he threw most of it away. He then went to his bedroom. Closed the curtains. Turned off the light and curled up on the bed. He didn't sleep. He let the darkness drag him back though. He felt it grip hold of him and a strange falling sensation took hold. When he opened his eyes he was _home_, back in the dark, the rubbery floor under his feet, his beautiful sprawling tent waiting and Az… Az who he was going to beat to a pulp and then have in as many ways as he could think of. Dead or Alive. Floyd didn't give a damn.

Az screamed. He did a lot of screaming. He tried to get away, but was held by a ring around his ankle. Az learnt the true meaning of what it felt to be fucked over – and over again. Az was used as a punch bag… for something to kick… something to urinate on… something to rip and lick and drink from and when Az tried to plead for Floyd to stop… when he begged and crawled and cried for Floyd to stop hurting him… Floyd told him to stand. Floyd reached out and held Az's face in his hands… he pressed his thumbs against his eyes… and pressed and gouged until warm liquid popped from those big blue eyes down Az's bruised bloody cheeks.

'Well that'll teach you to fuck with me.' Floyd threw the howling screaming thing to the side. He heard a bone snap and more screams. 'I'll be back. This isn't the end. I'll keep coming back.'

Az didn't reply. He couldn't. All he could do was scream.

But it didn't satisfy Floyd. It didn't even come close. He wanted to do this to Spencer, to Derek, to Hotchner. He wanted them all in such pain that they'd do anything and offer anything for it to stop. Only Hotchner had something he was even slightly interested in, and Floyd thought Hotch would die before handing his kid over to him. Wasn't worth it. Wait a few years… wait until Spencer was taken from him… wait and then take, take, take. He had to keep reminding himself that ten years was such a short space of time. It was no time at all to have Spencer as his… yet it seemed like an eternity to have to wait for Jack… Jack who he would carefully groom and pull towards him. Whether he wanted the little brat or not. The point wasn't to have Jack as his so much as to destroy Hotchner in the process. In the meantime he had Az to beat up on. Az to tear apart… and Spencer would never have to know! That was the glorious part of it.

o-o-o

Spencer and Sam had a mostly un-interesting flight home. It might have been more relaxing for Spencer if he wasn't having to constantly move Sam's hands off him. The restrooms are small on an aircraft, they are even more cramped when someone shoves you in and closes the door and starts begging for sexual favours.

'No! Get out!' Spencer snapped… and pale hands touched and touched and wandered to places they shouldn't. 'For goodness sake! Sam… no.' And then something rather telling and maybe words which should never have been said. 'Floyd will know.' It was for Sam words which meant that he was just going to have to keep on trying.

'He wont know. I wont tell him… and you'll smell of me anyway.' Touching and touching…. 'And you wanted me when we were in the car. You can't deny that. You were hard and needy. You did want me.'

'Sam… we are in the airplane restrooms. People must have seen you follow me into the cubicle. Now please, leave.'

No denials. Nothing… 'Another time then. But I'm going to have to get something soon or I'm going to burst.'

He left again. No one seemed to think anything of it. When Spencer came out he found Sam sitting in the wrong place. A very wrong place. He was seated next to a lad of about eighteen, skinny jeans, Metallica Tshirt, Sam's hands reaching out. Spencer dragged him from the seat and was so very tempted to slap him across the back of the head. 'What is _wrong_ with you? Can't you just wait? You can't go around molesting people on an airplane. They'll throw you out of the emergency hatch!'

'Fuck you.' Sam replied and sat down in his seat with his hands stuffed down between his legs. 'I just wanted to touch him. Why can't I just touch?' Spencer placed a magazine on Sam's lap. 'I don't want to read that shit.' Sam mumbled as he wiggled in his chair.

'It's not for you to read. Please whatever it is you're doing with your hands stop it.'

'Not until you let me do it to you.'

Spencer didn't bother to reply to that, but removed his light jacket and laid it over Sam's lap. 'Stop the noises.' Spencer hissed. 'You'll get arrested when we land. Do you want to end up in a police station again?'

Sam didn't speak, but let out a soft moaning sound and smiled at Spencer.

o-o-o

Sam's nagging didn't stop when the plane landed. Now he was moaning that he was hungry. He was moaning about the clothes he had on. He was moaning and saying he wanted a hair cut. 'Something swanky and nice… something modern.' It was true that Sam's hair had gotten a bit long but this wasn't the time to stop and have it seen to. Spencer wanted to get home. He could sense that something was wrong there. Something had happened. He'd left a message to say that they had another rental car and were on their way back. He didn't expect Floyd to answer the phone, or even listen to the messages, but Floyd might just be there and hear the message first hand. There was also the matter that Spencer could prove that he'd called if Floyd got annoyed with their late arrival.

'I need something to eat!' Sam howled as they drove by a fast food burger place. 'I'm half starved to death. Come _on_… how long will it take to pop in there and get something? We're close to home now, and can get something for Floyd too. Please… I want a burger!'

It was like travelling with a five year old and really Spencer couldn't cope with this much longer. He pulled over the car and took a couple of notes out of his wallet. 'Go on then. I'll wait here. Don't molest anyone or I will give you a hair cut myself.'

'Funny, funny.' Sam said as he stuffed the money into his pocket and slipped out of the car.

'I wasn't joking.' Spencer snapped. 'If it's too busy come back.'

'Fine! Geez… anyone would think I couldn't control my urges.' Sam slammed the car door… pressed his face against the window and grinned. It wasn't until Sam did that, that Spencer noticed the teeth. Really noticed Sam's teeth. It was like he'd filed them down into points. They weren't the teeth Sam should have in his mouth. They were vicious teeth used for ripping. Spencer turned away, repulsed by the sight. When he turned back Sam was jogging over the blacktop and going through the doors of Burger King.

Something was wrong. Spencer wasn't sure if it was because he was a Fed or if it was his years with Floyd, but something rang sudden alarm bells in Spencer's head. He leapt out of the car and looked around. Nothing odd or off seemed to be happening, but that feeling of deep wrongness was still there. He began to walk slowly in the direction Sam had gone, his heart pounding, trying to push back that sudden adrenaline rush as panic built up.

Something was wrong. Floyd stood on the front porch. He'd heard the message from Spencer on the telephone. They were stopping off to pick up food at a place not far from here. They'd survived the plane… fantastic. He should have been able to relax, but he was in full fight or flight mode as he stood on the balls of his feet there on his porch. Something was wrong and that wrongness centred around Sam at first and then Spencer. He walked quickly down the porch, stepped onto the grass and then broke into a run, spun on the spot, slipping on the grass but keeping his feet, he went back, got the bike and raced away not even bothering to close the front door. He left rubber on the road as the bike seemed to pick up on the panic Floyd was feeling. He just didn't know _why_ he was panicked.

Sam was fifth in line. He was standing behind a girl in a pink top and a pair of orange shorts. Her hair was scraped back off her face and tied back with ribbons. Sam guessed she was probably about fifteen. About the same age as him, but this girly was tall… much taller than Sam. Behind him there was someone who at this point Sam hadn't seen, but he could smell him. He smelt of body odour and cooking oil, but there was another smell too. It was anger, rage! It was murderous rage and Sam didn't much like this smelly angry person standing behind him. He turned slightly to get a look at who it was… Sam pretended to be looking at something else, but got a good gander at the very lanky ugly brute behind him, who seemed to have an impossibly large nose for the width of his face and pimples which looked like they were made of pure lard. That was something Sam could have dismissed. It was the gun the guy now seemed to have pointed at Sam which Sam was finding slightly harder to ignore.

'You going to cause trouble?' The guy who was in his mid twenties asked Sam.

'Me? No… I'm just leaving.' But it wasn't going to be quite that easy. Big lanky brute grabbed at Sam and pulled him in front of him. Sam seemed like a fairly easy mark. He was short, skinny, grubby looking.

'Everyone on the floor or I'll shoot his brains out!'

Those were the words Spencer heard just before the screaming… just as he walked in the door.

'Easy… easy… this is Burger King not the fucking bank!' Sam bravely informed the idiot with the gun.

Spencer stood in shock for a few seconds. How can everything fall apart so quickly! How did this sort of thing happen and why did it keep happening to him and Sam? He pulled out his cell phone and dialled 911. Sam was screaming and howling and now was tearing himself away from the gun man, who for now at least hadn't fired the weapon. But the gun was now pointing at Sam's face.

'Someone stop him!' Sam was shouting above the screams, but no one seemed to want to. Actually rather a lot were heading in Spencer's direction. The pimply gunman snatched out and took hold of Sam's top and this time the gun was cocked and ready and pressed against Sam's neck.

'I'll kill him! I'll kill him if anyone leaves!' and to prove his point he for a few seconds moved the gun and waved it at the window.

Now the gunfire started. It was initially one shot at the window… but it caught a middle aged man in a suit in the arm. He screamed and spun and dropped. Panic was now total. Spencer was trying to speak on the cell phone and say that someone was firing a gun in the local Burger King… yes someone had been hurt… yes the gun man seemed to be out of control… hurry… and other words were added where necessary.

Sam made a break for it when the gun shattered out the window. He pulled away from the man and started belting it across the shop towards where Spencer was hunkered down behind a wooden barrier between the tables. He peeked out from behind and saw Sam heading off at a tangent to him. Spencer thought of moving, but not yet. He kept an eye on Sam and pulled back out of sight again… willing Sam to keep going… willing him to get down…

It wasn't easy for Sam. People were screaming blue murder and either crouching on the floor and pissing themselves or running for one of the doors. He got swept along with the flow even though he knew that this was stupid. He should get down. He should go into cover… Someone pushed him to his right making him catch his hip on the table. He yelped and turned and saw that pimply motherfucker begin to just shoot into the screaming people randomly. Sam stood for a moment with his mouth open trying to think of something to say… someone was screaming in his head…

_Sam get out… Sam! Sam… get the fuck out_.

It was a voice deep down inside of his head. He looked around to see if Spencer was outside where he'd left him, but could only see hoards of panicking people. He began to move again.

'Stop running from me!' The pimple shouted. Again Sam was shoved out of the way from someone and something hard and painful smacked him in the back.

Sam instantly stopped running. He looked down at his chest and watched the blood pouring out of a brand new hole which hadn't been there seconds ago. His knees unhinged and he fell forwards, smacking his head on a wooden dividing wall on his way down.

Spencer saw it all from where he was ducked down. He saw Sam being pushed, he saw Pimple boy pointing the gun at Sam and he saw the blood suddenly spray out of Sam's front.

'Oh… oh my god… no!' And Spencer stood. He moved in jerky movements of someone with broken limbs. 'Sam!' And he was running. If someone was telling him to stop he didn't know. He could only hear the thumping of his heart now and all he could see was Sam sprawled on his front with blood over his back and a puddle forming around him. Spencer had to act like a Fed. He had to act like someone who knew what he was doing, but the fear that Sam had just been shot was cancelling out all of his own self preservation. He felt something scrape past his arm. It felt like someone had stabbed him, but it didn't stop him from keep walking – as though in a bubble – a bubble where nothing could actually hurt him because he had to get to Sam.

Something touched the side of Spencer's face. Someone spoke something to him, but Spencer didn't hear what it was or know what the person wanted. Spencer was on his knees at Sam's side rocking back and forth on his heels. Maybe there was a whooping of police sirens. It didn't matter. They got here too late. Spencer lay on the floor next to Sam and wrapped his arms around him. He didn't talk. He didn't cry. He lay there with a hot burning rage flowing through him.

Floyd arrived just as Sam went down. He saw the motherfucker shoot his boy! He saw it. He then stood and watched Spencer walk over to Sam and kneel at his side.

'What in the name of living fuck?' Floyd walked through the broken window. 'Why is no one stopping him?' No one answered. They were scattering or laying bleeding… some of them even had half eaten burgers in their mouths and thick shakes pouring out of containers between heads which didn't seem to he holding brains in them any longer. A teen in a pink top and orange shorts had taken a round between her eyes. She was forever staring up at the strip lighting. Poor bitch. He brushed past Spencer. Touching his face gently. 'Stay with him. Take him home. I can fix this.' And then he moved on. He didn't know if Spencer had heard him but he wasn't going to stand there and have a quick chat. Now wasn't the time. Now was the time to go and kill someone.

Just as the police sirens whopped into the parking lot, Floyd was tearing a gun out of an insane young man's hands. He was then smacking him around the head with it. Hard… and he didn't stop when the young man was on his back and his eyes were staring up at nothing. He didn't stop when blood dripped out of the man's ears and gushed from his nose or when this teeth shattered. He didn't want to stop until this beast was a grease spot on the tiles, but someone was shouting at him.

'Put down the gun! On your face! On your face now! Drop the weapon!'

Well that's all the thanks you get for getting here before the cops and taking the bad guy out. Fucking bastards the lot of them. He dropped the gun to the floor and was about to explain when something hit the back of his head and he flopped forwards over the form he'd been happily mashing.

o-o-o

And so again Spencer, Sam and Floyd were split up. Spencer and Sam were rushed to the hospital. It seemed that Spencer had been shot in the upper left arm. It had scraped the bone but it would heal. Sam was in ICU with tubes going in every possible direction. Spencer sat at the side of the bed, his face pale and his hands shaking uncontrollably. He'd not seen Floyd yet and that scared him almost as much as seeing Sam laying like that.

'We need to see his next of kin.' They kept telling Spencer… in the end he gave them Hotch's number. Maybe Hotch would go and get Floyd and bring him over here. That would be nice.

Spencer asked how Sam was doing. Was he going to be all right? They told Spencer that they had to wait. It was a waiting game. They couldn't answer him. The next twenty four hours would be the most important. If he can…

'If…' Spencer hated that word. Loathed it. And this couldn't end like this in a hospital. It wasn't possible. He went and emptied his bladder of nasty hospital coffee and then filled it up again with nasty hospital coffee.

'What's wrong with him?' Spencer asked doctor who came in to check on Sam.'

The doctor gave Spencer a small smile. 'He was shot.' He explained carefully and then sat down next to Spencer. 'You must understand that it's not just the fact that he has a hole. It's not that which kills usually. It's the shock and the loss of blood. Sam lost a lot of blood. The heart then tries to…'

Spencer cut him off. 'I know… I know what happens. I just want to know why he is not waking up.' Spencer looked at the doctor with damp pleading eyes.

'He's heavily sedated. He has massive trauma… There is quite a severe head. Usually when you take this sort of damage you don't live long enough to make it to the emergency room. He's lucky.' The doctor patted Spencer on the shoulder. 'But you've been injured too and you'll be no help to Sam if you don't try to get some sleep. You should be in your own room.'

Spencer had no intention of leaving Sam. Leaving Sam was the very last thing he was going to do. Never again. Never… he was going to stay here until Sam was dead, or Sam was awake and smiling. If only he'd not given in and said he could have a burger.

o-o-o

Floyd sat at the police station trying to get them to release him.

'It's not my gun. Ask around. I stopped him. And now I have to go because my friends were hurt and if they die whilst you had me here asking me inane questions I might flip out and come back and get right in your face angry with you.'

'Flanders, it doesn't change the fact that you nearly killed a man.'

'It does. It changes it because had I not, many more people would be dead. There is no doubt that the man is guilty. Now he wont hurt anyone else. End of. I'm now leaving and you're going to remove my name from your little list.' Floyd gave the copper a very hard dark look. 'And you're going to forget I was here. You wont find me on any security cameras, you have no evidence to use against me. I need to leave.' Floyd stood. He looked at the uncertain expression on the cop's face. 'It wasn't me.'

'Sure it wasn't.'

'You sure?' Floyd asked.

'Yes I'm sure it wasn't you. Thank you for your co-operation. You may leave. I have your address if we need to be in touch.'

Floyd smirked at the stupid son of a bitch. 'Yeah… you just pop round and ask away any question you want… just don't expect me to answer. Good day.' A small salute and Floyd was walking away with blood still stuck to his hands and arms.


	25. Chapter 25

25

Rossi of all people was standing in the corridor up on the floor where Sam was plugged in. Floyd stood by the elevators and glared at him until Rossi felt the eyes boring into him and turned to see what was beginning to spook him out. The glare didn't stop just because he'd turned to look… and didn't go as Rossi walked down the wide hospital corridor towards Floyd, who had his arms crossed over his chest. It was a look of deep curiosity that Rossi had on his face. The sort of look he gave many a man when about to ask questions for a new book. Floyd didn't want to be talked to by Rossi. He really was not in the mood for this sort of shit, but he stood there and didn't move. He waited for the big man to come to him. If that's what he wanted.

'You made it, I see.' Rossi said.

'Fuck you.' Floyd replied. 'I don't need your permission to be here.

'I just want you to be prepared.' Rossi informed Floyd.

'Go fuck yourself.' Floyd told Rossi. 'I am prepared. I'm always prepared. You should know that. And if you're not sure, ask Spencer. He's here I imagine? Good… now that's us done and dusted you can piss off and stop assuming I had anything to do with this… which you _are_ assuming, because like your tit buddy Hotchner, you think I'm up to no good. Fuck you and fuck the self righteous attitude you flew in on.' Floyd elbowed Rossi out of the way and started towards the room with a cop standing out side of it.

'Flanders.' Rossi grabbed Floyd's arm and stopped him. 'Sam is not going to survive this.'

Floyd stopped, turned to Rossi and shook his head. 'And you know this because you've read _The Book of the Dead_ or something? You have inside knowledge from a higher power? Well whoever it was you had your fucking séance with was wrong. Sam's going to be just fine.' He paused and stuffed his hands in his pocket. 'I'm here now. The cavalry has arrived.'

'Stay away from Hotchner.' Rossi now warned.

'Tell Hotchner to stay away from me! Is he here? Is he again sticking his unwanted nose in?' There was a small nod from Dave. 'I see.' Floyd carried on. 'So Aaron can interfere but I'm not allowed to have a fucking picnic with a neighbour. That's real nice. Lovely. Just how I would expect it to be. You best run on ahead of me, old man, because if he's in that room with my Sam then he's going to get a broken fucking nose.'

'He cares.' Dave said… almost as though that would explain everything away.

'And I'm not allowed to care for Jack?'

'Your motivations…' Rossi told Floyd, 'are hardly the same.'

Floyd was going to tell Dave to go fuck himself again, but Dave didn't seem to want to. 'You have no idea of my motivations and Dave, you're never going to know my motivations, but if you are for one second implying that I'm a kiddy fiddler then I might have to splatter your brains over the wall. Rethink what you think my motivations are, please. I don't want to end up on death row for killing you, when you are really not worth it. I'll save that… I'll save being a big nasty motherfucker for someone else.' Floyd patted the side of Dave's face. 'Now please tell Aaron to fuck off. I don't need him. Sam certainly doesn't need to kind of help Hotch offers. And…' A conspiratorial tone. 'If Derek Morgan is around, make him disappear. I'll get a coffee. That's how long you have to clear yourself and your friends out of here.'

'Not so fast. We have questions which need to be asked.'

'And I've answered them. Down at the cop shop… now I'm going to get a nasty excuse for coffee and give you a chance to save Aaron's life. Jump to it, old man. Don't just stand there rubbing your chin like you can produce a genie from it. You can't.' Floyd now walked to the vending machine over in the small waiting area.

o-o-o

Sam had slipped away for now. He wasn't sure exactly what had happened to him, but it seemed that one minute he was running across Burger King and the next he was laying on his face on a squashy black floor. Sam knew exactly where he was and that was partly what annoyed him so much. He'd survived all that time alone, struggling to keep himself going along the roads, hitching lifts, getting into situations he'd rather not have been in and as soon, or almost as soon as Spencer was with him he was blasted back to hell. He sat up and looked around. He could see Floyd's luxury tent thing in the distance and with a sigh got up and walked over there. Someone was there. A lamp was glowing. Surely Floyd wasn't here too? That would just be so unlucky that Sam began to feel queasy just thinking about it.

It wasn't Floyd though. No… certainly wasn't Floyd sitting there like he owned the fucking place! That wasn't Floyd, that was the whore boy Az. The only good thing about seeing Az chained to the floor (apart from the simple matter of him being chained to the floor,) was that he cringed back when he saw who it was. He wiggled back on his arse and put his hands over his ugly butt face. They both wanted to know what the other was doing here. As far as Az knew this was Floyd's place. As far as Sam knew… well this was _his_ and Floyd's place and Az had no place in his place.

Sam tried to ignore the _creature_ sitting whimpering and went to locate some small bottles of things which would make him feel better. There was a growing ache in his chest and back and one of his legs was shaking horribly. He decided that he reason for this must be that he'd been cruelly gunned down… taken out in his prime, by a pimply oaf in Burger King. He swigged back from one bottle and then walked over towards Az, to see him cringe back more than a need to actually talk to him.

'What the fuck are you doing here?' Sam kicked out at Az who was now at the furthest reach of his chain.

'I was requested to be here.' Az whispered.

'By Floyd?'

'By Isgar. He requested that I was brought here.'

Sam crouched down in front of Az and gave him a long careful look. 'And he'd been here and he's screwed you?'

Az gave a slow nod and Sam raised his eyebrow. 'He beats me. Does the most foul things to me… then leaves me to heal.'

That sounded about right. Sam didn't disbelieve that in the slightest. What he didn't understand was why Floyd would need Az to beat up and fuck when he had Spencer. 'Does Spencer come here too?' Sam sat with his legs crossed and a small bottle resting on his leg. He saw Az shake his head and Sam was at least happy about that. He asked Az if Floyd had given a reason that he came here and Az shook his head. 'So he comes here, beats up on you, fucks you and leaves?'

'He gives me something to help me heal quickly and he directs something to come and leave food. I don't know if I should eat it.'

Sam shook his head. 'I wouldn't if I was you. All the time you're here don't eat or drink a thing unless… well no… not unless anything I suppose… just don't eat or drink.' Sam smiled a gracious smile. 'You got me out of The Pit and they sent you here?'

'Isgar requested it.'

'Since when has Isgar got what he asked for?' Sam then looked down at himself and grinned. 'Well excluding me obviously. What else did Isgar ask for? Do you know? Has he talked to you? Has he told you what the deal was?'

There was a very careful shake of the head this time. If Floyd had told him anything, Az wasn't going to repeat it. Sam got up and moved back a bit. He would have liked a bit of Az arse too… it seemed like forever since he'd had something nice… something other than a quicky in a toilet or in a car or truck. He would have liked to have curled up with Az and been hammered, but that pain in his chest was increasing and the darkness seemed to be slipping away again.

'I'm going again I think. Back later. Remember not to eat or drink. Best to die rather than be poisoned.' The last sentence was a bubbly babble of fading words… and the tent and the glow from the lamp was replaced by the bleep, bleep, bleep of hospital machinery.

o-o-o

'How is he still alive?' Spencer asked Floyd as he pulled over a chair and sat down next to him. Floyd reached out and grabbed Spencer's hand and gave it a squeeze.

'We leech off each other. One of us goes down, the other two use energy to keep that one going. It's useful. Gives me a sore head after a while but it's one of the advantages of being bonded.'

Spencer squeezed the hand back and smiled. 'I was trying to help. I ran in there and tried to get him out… I was too late. He only went in for some burgers, Floyd. How can this happen just getting a burger?'

Floyd shook his head. 'The fates allowed you to survive the air travel. I guess it had some catching up to do. I tell you over and over that air travel is dangerous. Do you now believe me?'

There was a puzzled look on Spencer's face now. 'How is this connected? We weren't even at the airport. This has nothing to do with flying.' Spencer used a soothing voice but it still sounded harsh against the quiet of the room.

'Because as I said, you survived the flight. You, by rights, should have crashed. All flights do eventually… in one form or another. By risking your life on a flight you put your life in peril. If you survive then something else will try to get you. It's sod's law.'

'You know that's rubbish don't you?' Spencer smiled.

Floyd shook his head. 'Absolutely not rubbish. It's the damned finest excuse never to fly that I've ever heard. Maybe you'll listen to me next time.' He slid sideways in his chair and looked closer at Spencer. 'Hotchner was here. Did he have anything interesting to say, to touch… to molest or interfere with? Did he harass you about you giving in your notice? Did he touch Sam?' Some of these questions he already knew the answer to but it was nice to see the deep discomfort of Spencer's face. He loved to see his boy squirm like that. Spencer tried to pull his hand away but Floyd kept it tightly in place. Almost tight enough to crack bones.

'He was here. He didn't touch me, but I've not told him officially that I'm handing in my notice. I've got to do that via Strauss and that will have to wait until the beginning of the week and then I'll have to work my notice. I can't just stop going in… not unless there's a very good reason and I don't _want_ a very good reason. I want it to be my choice and not them who tell me I can't come back. He told me that he'd seen you in the park, that you spoke to Jack and he wants me to ask you to stay away from him. He's a kid Floyd. Leave the poor child alone. He spoke to Sam, but got no reaction. I don't know why he assumed that he would. The doctors are saying…'

Floyd cut Spencer off at this point. 'I don't need to know what the doctors are saying. They're wrong. Do you want the absolute real reason that I'm fucking with Jack… metaphorically speaking obviously – I want to mess with Hotchner's head.'

'There are better ways than contacting Jack. If you _have_ to mess with Hotch's head, but why do you feel the need to?'

Floyd now let go of Spencer's hand and turned to look at Sam. 'Because I feel that underneath that boring exterior that he is an actual threat. He's a clever old sod. I don't want him constantly in my life. I don't trust him. I don't want him near you. He's seen enough of you as it is. He's seen you in a way I never want another man to see you. He knows you too well. And I'm maybe jealous of the friendship. Now whilst on the subject of your work comrades, I went to see Derek.' Floyd sensed that Spencer had tensed. 'But don't worry… don't worry. I just spoke to him. I warned him. Now if he touches you again I will know. Don't even begin to think of going to him again. I _will_ kill him if he does. Make no mistake. I will tear him apart. For some reason, and I guess it's because I'm trying to prove to them that I'm not the monster they think I am – even if they're right and I am actually exactly the monster they think I am – and to do that I need to stay calm and be the nice guy. How's your face by the way?'

'I need my own friends.' Spencer muttered. 'I need my own life.'

'No… you don't. You have me. You have Sam. You need nothing else. You will hand in your notice on Monday. You will inform them that you're ill and can't work and that you'll not be back. If you do not do what I tell you, Spencer, even though I worship the ground you walk on, I'll tell them what a ho and a junky you are. I'll tell Dave and Aaron about your party times with Derek. I'll let poor JJ know that you… hang on… JJ is back, what the fuck is that whore doing back. I thought she'd gone for good. I thought that slapper Seaver was working on your team now.'

Spencer sighed. 'Really Floyd I need interests in life…'

'Told you. You've got me. You've got Sam. You don't need anything else. We can go away, get a shop…'

'I don't want to work in a shop.' Spencer snapped.

'You'd love it!'

'You'd control me and not let me talk to the customers.' Spencer sighed. 'You'd keep me drugged and drunk.'

Floyd shrugged. 'You're such a fucking kill joy sometimes. You don't need to talk to customers; you can work in the stock room or fiddling on the computer getting in new stuff. It's going to be great fun! A small town, with nothing much going on except in the summer when the tourists arrive. Something on a lake… by a lake… forests around us… the smell of the wilds… and in the summer… well the shop. More of a hobby. A shop with a wooden boardwalk in the front… one which creaks and shit. A rocking chair outside so you… no so _I_ can whittle and Sam can go fishing on the lake and be the biggest fag in town and the most beautiful… apart from you of course, but don't tell Sam that.' Floyd now stood. The decision in his mind had been made. They would get a shop! It would sell all sorts of dark magical stuff and it will be awesome. Everyone would avoid them, which would be even better… and fresh fish caught by Sam. That was assuming that Sam didn't die. 'I'm going to sort out Sammy boy now. Do you fancy walking down to Starbucks and getting some real coffee and tell those doctors not to come in for a while. I'll be erm… making a Floydian Transfer with Sam.'

'You want me to go get a coffee whilst you have sex with Sam?'

'Nail on the head! Yes! Thanks Babes. Give me…' Floyd glanced at Sam and then at Spencer, '…I was going to ask you to give me ten minutes, but do you want to join in?' A raised eyebrow. I can fix your face while I'm doing Sam.'

'Coffee. Great. I'll go. As for keeping doctors out, I don't know and what you have planned with Sam is illegal. At least in this state it is. So for the love of… for goodness sake, be careful. Maybe wait until I'm back.' Spencer realised what he was saying. It made his stomach tie it self in tight knots and not because of what Floyd was doing, but because he could let himself be there when it happened.

And he desperately,

… desperately…

… wanted to be.

Spencer walked to the door, stood with his hand on the door handle and turned around again. 'They will arrest you for having underage anal sex with someone in a coma. It will be classed as rape whatever why you want to put it and what ever excuses you have. Can't you… Erm… take him somewhere? You know? Pull him back with you and do it where no one can see you? In the dark?'

Floyd looked over at Spencer and grinned. 'And there you go showing me what a genius you are. I'll still want you to keep guard. Don't want them trying to _wake_ me.'

**a/n: short I know… had a very busy day… tomorrow maybe I'll have more time :D xox**


	26. Chapter 26

26

Spencer sat outside the hospital room on a blue plastic chair. He was feeling irritable and snappy, but not because of what Floyd was doing. At least that's what he was trying to tell himself. He was not feeling like this because his messenger bag was still in the car in Burger King's parking lot either. He would also strongly deny that it was because he had some little blue capsules in that messenger bag. His arm was beginning to ache again from the wound. His forehead was covered in a film of sweat and he was shaking.

Shock…

That's what he'd put it down to. The whole thing at the burger place. Nothing else. Nothing. It wasn't the thought of having to face Morgan on Monday, or Hotch and Rossi for that matter. It was just the shock of the incident. Being shot was never something you could just walk away from and pretend never happened. So yes… He decided that he was in shock. A nurse walked past where he was sitting. He pulled in his feet so that she'd not trip and then asked her if it was possible to have something for the pain… the pain in his arm. The pain in his head, stomach, back… and shoulders, he kept quiet about – the same meds would cure all, at least that's what he was hoping. The nurse advised that Spencer went back to his room to rest.

'You've been shot. You need to rest.'

Spencer told her that he was fine. The pain was there, but laying down in a bed wouldn't cure that. Besides, he wanted to be close to his friend. He needed to know what was going on. She didn't ask what he was doing sitting there and not sitting in the room with Sam. She just nodded and said she'd get him something. Spencer watched her walk off and sat again picking at a sore place on his inner arm.

He didn't want to move house. He liked the place they had. It was in a nice area, even if the people didn't seem to like him very much. They would like him even less if Floyd got him somewhere away from the town. He wanted to please Floyd though. He wanted to be there for him and show him how much he needed him. He would let Floyd slap him around – but then that's what Spencer liked, so was he really with Floyd because he wanted _Floyd_ or because he wanted the treatment he received. He didn't want to leave his job… not really. He liked the security that they checked up on him. He liked the feeling that he could trust them not to drug his drinks or give him minced squirrel for his dinner. He liked to be able to relax, but he didn't like having to hide things from them and it really was getting harder to hide. Floyd was going to make sure that it would get more complicated. Floyd's ideas of some kind of fantasy break from the world never seemed to work out. Either Floyd started problems or they seemed to be lured to where there was trouble. He could do without that. Really.

When Floyd walked from the room looking sick and drained, Spencer stood. His head span, he sat back down again and tried again, this time standing slower. 'Is Sam OK?'

'Sam is the little whining bitch he'll always be. Come… lets go get some food. The alarms will start going on in a minute or so. I don't want to be here when he wakes up. And he's going to wake up.'

'Did you…?'

'I did.' Floyd took Spencer by the elbow and started to pull him down the corridor with him.

'I'm waiting for a nurse to bring me something for my arm.'

'I'll give you a fucking punch in your arm if you don't walk quickly with me. The last thing I want is Sam waking up and blabbing in my face about some shit that I'm not going to explain to anyone – not here at least. Damnit Spencer… you need to have a bit of Sam. He's…'

Spencer pulled his arm away from Floyd. 'He's underage.' Spencer hissed. 'And you're hurting my arm.' Spencer looked around to see if the nurse was coming back with his meds. The corridor seemed to be empty though. 'You don't want me wanting Sam anyway. If something one day did happen between us you'd go ape on us both.'

'Sometimes a man needs an excuse.' Floyd grabbed at Spencer's hand now and resumed his dragging.

'Excuse for what? You never seem to need an excuse for anything.'

'An excuse to get pissed and slap you! What the fuck else.'

As they stepped into the elevator and the doors began to slide shut, the alarms went off and the corridor filled with running nursing staff towards Sam's room. 'He's waking up.' Floyd muttered and looked up at the numbers lighting up on the panel above the doors. 'I need to thank you.' Floyd said as he pulled Spencer around so that he was standing in a corner – squashed into the corner – with Floyd pressing hard against him.

'Not here.' Spencer muttered as he wrapped his arms around Floyd.

'No. Not here.' Floyd agreed, but didn't stop the touching and the gentle kissing. 'Certainly not.' But he could feel Spencer pushing against him. It was just an automatic response and Floyd knew that. It was like licking your lips after you've had an ice cream or scratching your arse on a sweaty hot day… but pressing hot and hard against Floyd wasn't quite the same as licking your lips. The elevator stopped. The doors opened. Someone made a noise of… maybe it was disgust and they slid shut again. Floyd and Spencer were still alone. Floyd's hands pressed against Spencer's shoulders and moved down to his chest. He took one small step back and Spencer grabbed at Floyd's hair and pulled him forwards again.

'Don't even think of getting on your knees in here.'

'I'll press the emergency stop.' That voice sounded almost pleading.

'Absolutely not.'

'Fuck's sake Spence.'

'You choose the most inconvenient times and places.'

Floyd nodded and stepped back further, tearing his hair from Spencer's grasp. 'OK… you little fucking tease. OK, but don't think you're off the hook.'

'I don't want to be off the hook.' Spencer grinned at Floyd. 'But the hospital elevator really isn't the place.'

Down by the hospital café, in the restrooms wasn't the right place to play either, but the cubicles were large and very clean and Floyd would take no excuses this time. Spencer had to balance with this feet on the toilet bowl and his hands pressed against the wall either side of him. He was hunkered down and his face was pressed into the side of Floyd's neck. Really if someone had stood there for long enough they would probably have figured out what was going on, but it was late now… not even four in the morning and the place was mostly deserted of visitors. Spencer only slipped once much to Floyd's howls of amusement. Spencer wasn't so amused at slipping a foot down the cold wet toilet. His arms were shaking, his own squeals and yelps were having to be held back and Floyd was doing with his mouth something which Spencer didn't think would be possible in a toilet cubicle.

'No… stop!' Were Spencer's loudest words…

… and a gentle… 'Mmmm waaaa.' Was Floyd's response.

It was the general filthiness of it that made Spencer give in to Floyd's constant demands. Having a blow in the hospital toilets really wasn't the correct thing to do, but hearing Floyd giggle… damn… Spencer was going to have to get down and filthy with him more often. He had heard Floyd snort out a laugh before, and he'd heard his head back open mouthed roars… but the little giggles he let out as he licked his way over Spencer's skin was something so downright dirty that Spencer was almost finished before they'd started.

'Goddamnit.' Floyd muttered and gently hoisted Spencer off the toilet where he'd been crouching like a man wanting to have a serious squatting session.

'I think he might have to damn it more often.' Spencer whispered back. 'Get out of here before someone comes in. We'll get kicked out at the very least.'

'At the very least.' Floyd smiled. 'You know had I asked for this a year or so ago you'd have turned me down, or at least tried to. Why suddenly so willing?' Floyd unlocked the toilet door and walked backwards out of it. He stood leaning on the wash basins as Spencer pulled his clothing back into place.

Spencer sighed and shook his head. 'How many times have I thought I've lost you for ever? How many times have I see you walk away and say you're not coming back? How many times have you cheated on me? I mean not with Sam but someone else?'

'Someone who matters? Rather than a hooker or a ho?' Floyd bounced up so that he was sitting on the melamine surface between the basins. 'Someone I care about rather than someone I pay for or have to kill first?'

Spencer's mouth hardened, but he walked over to him and stood so he hand a Floydian knee each side of his hips. 'No. Actually paying for a whore or rent boy is classed as cheating. At least in the normal world it is.'

Floyd tightened his legs around Spencer who was shaking his wet foot and trying to wash his hands. 'This _isn't_ the normal world is it? This is the one I can groom Jack in. This is the one you're going to help me do that in. This is the one where Sam just got fucked back to life again and the staff are racing around wondering what the hell just happened. We are lucky fuckers. They owe us. They fucking owe me big damned time and I'm going to take and I'm going to continue taking, because I know what's going to happen in the end. I've read the last chapter and I need to make some amendments to what the _fuck_ they think they're going to do. So I'm going to enjoy you everywhere I can and you're not going to complain and I'm going to prove that this isn't just feckless lust, but it's passion and love and a need to stick my body parts in you and have you come in my mouth. Is that such a problem?'

The whole _I don't want you cheating on me_ thing seemed to have been ignored by Floyd has he made his passionate, loving statement.

'I don't want you cheating on me.' Spencer spoke slowly. He needed Floyd to hear him.

'I wont! I don't! I've never fucking cheated on you!' Floyd looked amused, grabbed one of Spencer's hands and began the slow process of licking each finger.

'You go with whores. You… you and Sam.'

'Yeah, but you know I do that… you know I'll fuck anything which presents it self to me, so that's not cheating is it? No, no, Babes… it's not. Cheating is when you fuck someone I hate. Cheating is letting Derek screw you. Oh and I'm going to do something to him. Something which will break him… I just need to take my time. Revenge and all that stuff. Don't argue with me over it! I was thinking what to do, I don't want to confront Morgan. He's a shit, and I don't want that shit all over my hands. I don't want to… you know… get too personal with him. That stuff, well it's just not what I want.'

'I never realised how racist you are. How can I not have seen that before?'

'Because I'm not. Had you screwed JJ I would be feeling the same.' Floyd pushed Spencer back away from himself. 'You've not… surely you've not plugged JJ. That will just about finish any passion I might have. No, not JJ… damn. That worried me for a while there. I'm not racist Spencer. I do hate niggers though and I'm not so keen on fucking zippers.'

'That generally would be called racist. You are also a misogynist.'

'Bullshit! I can hate the colour of the skin and not hate the person inside of it. I just happen to dislike all of Derek… and as for being a misogynist… it's a fair cop. I don't really like women too much. They confuse me.'

'Wow.' Spencer moved to wash his hands properly. 'You really can't see it can you?'

Floyd turned to look at the mirrors. He leaned in and inspected his face and teeth carefully. 'No… can't see it. Don't suppose you have a handy mint do you? I'm guessing my breath is going to smell a bit… well of you.'

'Disgusting.' Spencer muttered. But no he didn't have a mint.

'You're the one who forced himself on me. I'm innocent! I'm innocent Agent Doctor Reid! I swear!'

'Stop trying to be amusing. It doesn't suit you. I don't have mints but I'm sure that you can find something to erase all memory of what you just did.'

And now Floyd went into denial over everything… 'Whoah there buddy… What _I_ did?'

There was a very high percentage risk that Spencer was going to be thrown over the basins and rammed right there in full view of anyone who entered the restrooms, but Spencer was indicating door and walking in that direction. He had to get out into a more public place. Actually he wanted to go and see how Sam was doing. They never got their coffee and they didn't get food. It was all forgotten as they walked, linked hands, back to the elevator.

o-o-o

Whilst Spencer and Floyd messed around lovingly in the restrooms on the ground floor, Sam was screaming and struggling with staff up in ICU. They couldn't understand how Sam had gone from _probably dead_ to_ very much alive_ in such a short space of time. They ran back and forth calling for doctors to come and check up on the teenager who was tearing the little monitor pads off his chest, head and pulling needles out of the back of his hands. They told him to settle down… they told him that everything was good… but he _did_ need to keep calm. Sam was shouting something about his leg but it wasn't that he couldn't move it because Sam was kicking and scratching anyone who tried to get close to him.

Sedation was considered as Sam built himself up into a frenzy and tried to bite the doctor. Blood coloured the dressing on his chest and as he moved a red rose of fresh blood grew on the dressing on his back.

'It fucking hurts!' He kept screaming at them… howling… wailing… crying. Snot bubbles appeared as he spat and flailed and batted away anyone who tried to help him.

'He's in distress.' Sam heard this. He heard it clearly in a female voice and he spun… the dressing's became redder and his eyes seemed to swim behind the tears.

'Of course I'm in fucking distress! I was fucking shot! You stupid cunt!' Such a nice boy.

'You need to lay back down again.' This time a male voice. 'Or we will have to sedate you again and now you're awake it would be nice to keep it that way.'

'I'm in pain! Make the fucking pain go away! What's wrong with my leg! Where is everyone?'

For a moment they thought Sam meant that he couldn't see, but that wasn't what he meant. He wanted his friends and they'd only just gone, probably for the rest of the night.

'If you lay back down I'll give you something for the pain.'

'Morphine! Give me fucking morphine now!' And like a well behaved dog he lay back down and shut up – apart from the crying and sniffing and the odd way he was snapping his teeth together. 'I've had a rough few days.' Sam whimpered and lay waiting for his fix. In most ways Sam hated hospitals. He seemed to spend too much time in them. He didn't like the smells or the people. He didn't like the way they looked at him and he loathed hospital food, but he _loved_ that he could create a huge screaming fuss and wail in pain and writhe on the stiff clean sheets and get his fix and it was all totally legal too!

By the time Spencer and Floyd arrived outside the room, Sam was a contented bunny and was letting them change his dressings. He looked over at Floyd in the doorway and grinned. And now Floyd saw those teeth too and Floyd was damned sure that they weren't like that earlier. He would no way in hell or hades have put his precious in that mouth full of nasty shark like teeth. He blinked and when he looked back again Sam had a normal row of neat white teeth.

'Fuck.' Floyd mumbled. 'Teeth.' He hissed.

'Sam's?' Spencer was still clutching hold of Floyd's hand. 'I noticed that earlier and then forgot. It looks like he's filed them down and the… well when I look again they appear normal. They weren't like that when we were flying.'

'Well that's interesting shit. Just don't accept a blow job.' Floyd placed a hand into his favourite pocket and blessed himself that nothing bad had happened earlier. 'At least not until I know what's going on with that OK?'

Sam's healing rate from this point accelerated, but Sam managed to keep up the constant whining about the pain in his back and chest and the weirdness in his leg. It didn't seem to want to take his weight. The doctors muttered various things telling Floyd in a quiet but very stressful chat that he thought Sam had spinal damage and it needed to be carefully checked. He also wanted more brain scans done. No one mentioned Sam's odd teeth which seemed to come and go depending on whether he was looking at Spencer and Floyd or at the hospital staff.

'He's not in as much pain as he's making out.' Floyd finally snapped after a week of this. This mess which he was calling a _total fuckery_. 'I'm paying for this crap!' He bellowed at the doctor. 'If I tell you that he's a junky ho, then that's what the fuck he is! I know him! He's not in fucking pain, he's draining your resources of morphine so he can get his fucking fix.'

'Mr Flanders.' A terse angry voice. 'Sam was shot in the back. He's going to be in pain for a while yet. The fact that he's recovered as well as he has is, to be blunt, shocking. If I didn't know better I'd say that he was faking the whole thing, but I saw him. I saw the wound. I saw what had happened. How he is even still alive I don't know. If I feel that he is in pain…'

'He's not.' Floyd snapped. 'He's not. He's fucking with you.'

'Sir…'

'I like being called Sir.' Floyd told him. 'I get called a lot of shit but not often _Sir_.'

'Mr Flanders, I don't understand your attitude. He was badly wounded.'

'I know.' Floyd got up and paced. He straightened a picture of a boat… and picked some fluff off the carpet. 'The flowers need fresh water. Nothing worse than a room with dying flowers. My personal opinion is that plants should be left where they bloom. They grow outside for a reason and that reason isn't to kill them and stuff them in yellowing water and leave them to die. Only a few people get to see them in this stuffy ugly room. Hundreds could have seen them if they'd been left. People confuse me.' Floyd gave the painting on the wall another wiggle and then sat down again. 'I love art. I'm an art lover. I have some very expensive shit hanging on my walls at home. That…' Floyd thumbed over his shoulder at the painting on the wall, '… well that is shit.'

'My wife painted it.' The doctor spoke quietly but slowly. 'Mr Flanders…'

Floyd cut him off. 'I hope she's not making a career of it. It's really quite shitty. Perspective is all out.'

'She passed away a few years ago.' The doctor was suddenly subdued. His face pale as though in shock.

'Well that's lucky!' Floyd announced. 'Now back to the living huh? When can I take Sam home?'

The doctor placed his hands on the desk and then cracked his knuckles. 'You are a selfish, heartless man. If I had my way Sam wouldn't be going home with you. I dread to think of the treatment he'll get in your hands. I've seen the bruises on Dr Reid's face.'

Floyd raised an eyebrow at this. 'I love Sam. I love him to bits!' He leaned on the desk and grinned. 'And I need him. I need him home.'

'That is what concerns me.' The doctor replied. 'You are not related to him. You seem…' He shrugged. '… overly tactile.'

There were places where Floyd was happy to kill - hospitals occasionally, but not today. This man was damned lucky because Floyd was not in the mood to rip into someone today. He was not going to sully his good reputation by doing that. So far, by the very skin of his teeth he'd kept control. 'I'm a friend.' Floyd stood up and walked to the door. 'I am his legal ward. He's coming home. With or without your consent… not that I need it. Tomorrow at the latest. Wean him off that shit. I don't want a druggy in my home.' Floyd burst out of the door, nearly knocking over a nurse walking past with a jug of water.


	27. Chapter 27

27

Floyd desperately needed something to distract himself with. Screwing with Spencer and with Spencer's head were good, but too much would damage him. He had to be careful. His need to cause Derek Morgan pain was building and so Floyd began a small campaign of being a fucking pest. He knew when Derek was working. He knew that he had plenty of time. The first few things, carried out during the cover of darkness were to pour thick black grease into this hot-tub. He poured red paint over the lawn. He fed the dog food which gave it a serious case of uncontrollable stomach trouble. And once the exterior had been fucked to Floyd's content, he entered the house, turning off alarms, wearing a pair of Spencer's latex gloves. He conducted minor, but annoying damage to Morgan's home. He blocked the kitchen sink and then turned on the hot water. He cut all the wires and connections to Morgan's television and internet. He sliced through Morgan's mattress and pulled out the stuffing. He used a kitchen knife to draw phallic images on the walls, the floors, the ceiling (by standing on the kitchen cupboards. He didn't have long to do this… all of it was repairable. It was just a little bit of fun and he was gone long before Derek got home. Oh he _knew_ that Morgan would throw a tantrum and he knew that Morgan would suspect it was him, but would he report it? Floyd thought not. What would he say? How would he explain that he had a very big problem with Floyd… that Floyd had threatened him? Ah… that was the beauty of it. Morgan would keep his mouth shut. At least until the dog got killed… and nailed to the bedroom wall, but Floyd hadn't actually done that yet. He reset the alarms and left through the back, leaving the door open.

o-o-o

Spencer did go into work on the Monday. He had stuffed in his jacket pocket, a letter which he intended to hand over to Hotch. He sat at his desk and fiddled with a pen until Hotch had finished talking over something with Rossi and then slowly approached. Morgan was watching. Watching closely. Spencer could feel those dark eyes following him.

'I need to talk to you, in private.' Spencer muttered at Hotch who had watched him walk over. Hotch gave a nod and indicated his office and so it was there Spencer now dragged his tired feet to. He sat down at Hotch's desk and pulled out the envelope. 'Things…' Spencer started as Hotch removed his jacket and draped it over the back of his chair, '… things have been going on.' Spencer started. Hotch just nodded as though he knew what Spencer was going to say. 'I've been having had headaches for a while now. They're not getting any better. I've a doctor's report to say that they found nothing, but now I'm finding that it's encroaching upon my work. I need to hand in my resignation.' Now he placed the letter on Hotch's desk and slid it over towards him. 'I've been taking a lot of…' Spencer paused as he looked at the envelope which Hotch hadn't picked up yet. '… I have a lot of stress in my life. I don't think I'm able to work along side the team happily any longer.'

Now Hotch looked slightly confused. Had the team not always had Spencer's back? Had they not always been on his side? 'Has something happened that I don't know about?' Hotch now got up and closed his office door, he slipped the lock across and then sat back down again. 'Has Floyd told you to do this?'

'No.' Spencer lied. 'It's something I've been struggling with for a while now, and well… something happened. Something other than being shot.' Spencer touched his arm gently. 'I just can't… I'm don't feel that…' Again he paused. 'Sometimes I think I'm losing my mind. I question everything I do. I can't make decisions without feeling I'm doing something wrong. I feel I'm being monitored and watched the whole time – at work. It's not an environment that I wish to carry on working in.'

Something had happened. Hotch could tell by the way Spencer was fidgeting. Something other than the usual mess Floyd seemed to drag behind him wherever he went. 'You can confide in me.' Hotch said gently, understanding, but Spencer shook his head.

'I can't. You're my boss. If I say something out of place you will report it. I tell you something, you will tell Rossi. Everyone will know. It will be on my record. If, and only if there was something untoward going on, I'd not be able to confide in you.' Fidget, fidget. 'I'm also on a course of painkillers and antibiotics and so can't work yet anyway. And due to the incident at Burger King… I will, I'm sure need yet another psyc-eval and I know that not one of my work comrades will believe the result. I know that they all think I cheat them. And maybe I do, but not because I actually sit and make that decision. It just happens. So with that in mind, and the problem that right now I'm medicated…' He pushed the envelope towards Hotch again. 'I am resigning. I realise that I have to work my time, but I also believe that I will take that time off as sick. You understand why.'

'Which team member is it you're having a problem with?' Hotch insisted.

Spencer stood and walked towards the door. 'It's irrelevant. I don't feel that everyone is watching my back. I… well… I don't trust the team. I resign and I will take the next month off as sick as I recover physically and emotionally.' He flipped the lock again, opened the door and walked out. Spencer thought for a moment which would have forced a scream out of him, that Hotch was going to come chasing after him. Then he wondered if Morgan would pounce. They didn't. They left him and as he stood twitching and taking long gulping breaths a hand _did_ rest on his arm.

'Spence?'

What the hell? JJ? Spencer closed his eyes and didn't move. He dared not move. The sickly stink of her flowery perfume was beginning its rapid attack on his sinus system. He felt the pressure already building up behind his cheekbones. 'JJ.' He finally managed to say.

'I would like to have a chat sometime. Catch up.' She spoke softly and he was sure that her eyes were undressing him.

'Might not be possible, JJ. Ahh…' He pointed to the opening doors of the elevator.

'I'm going down too.' And suddenly he felt like he'd been buried alive with her. Spencer knew that Floyd thought of JJ as a worthless maggot, but Spencer had never really known what it was about her, but since… well since he'd been free of her for a while… he guessed… well he could happily say that the hadn't missed her even slightly.

'You've got a bruise.'

He twitched back and let out a small mewling sound when her finger touched his face. 'Don't touch me JJ.' Spencer snapped. He spun and jabbed button on the control panel. 'Please, just get out and stop whatever it is you're doing.'

JJ looked completely baffled. 'I was showing concern for a friend and comrade.'

'I'm neither.' The door hissed open, but JJ just stood there looking (shocked, worried, confused) stupid… He stepped out and watched the doors close a few inches in front of her nose. 'Why?' Spencer asked himself. 'Why the two that I know… I _know_ Floyd would and should kill me for messing with. How am I still alive? How is Morgan still alive?' Spencer wasn't going to have JJ's death or pain on his conscience. He just hoped that Hotch would accept the resignation without too many quibbles. He was going to have to accept it. In Spencer's mind there was no other way forward.

o-o-o

Floyd made ready for Sam to come home. Social Services had given him a call and he'd ignored it. They'd knocked on the door and he'd invited them in. The house was nice. It was clean and comfortable. Sam had his own room with a shower room en suite. There was nothing in the place which shouted out PAEDOPHILE to them and so they had a look at the old paintings (not painted by anyone's dying wife) and they noted the piano and the violin case. They asked who played. Floyd told them that Sam did. They admired the comforts of the home Floyd had set up. They liked the rambling garden with the long grass and wild flowers poking through it…

NOT THAT IT HAD ANY FUCKING THING TO DO WITH THEM! But Floyd coped well. He only called them nosy cunts a few times. He wouldn't show him any bedroom other than the one Sam might or might not be given… If Floyd had his way Sam would be sharing… very sharing, with himself and Spencer… he kept that information to himself. He pointed out how the alcohol was locked. He told them that they would be no guns in the house.

'Guns?' The older of the two women peeped over her eye glasses at Floyd.

'Dr Reid is – was a Federal Agent. He had a hand gun, which obviously isn't illegal in any way or form, but my point is that he's resigning and so there will be no weapons in the house.' The woman nodded. She looked uncomfortable and maybe suspicious. She could perhaps see further than the truth Floyd was handing out. 'So is that all?' Floyd walked to the hallway.

'Sam needs to come in for regular hospital visits. He's still very poorly. He seems also to be lacking in formal education so putting his name down for the local school would be…'

'Fuck you.' Floyd finally snapped. He swung the door open and showed them the way out. 'He'll be home schooled. I'm not sending a delicate little thing like Sam into the hell known as public schooling. I'm not paying for something which I can and will and Spencer can and will provide for him at home for free. Goodbye.'

'We will check up.' The younger of the two now blurted out.

'You'll never darken my damned doorstep again unless you have a fucking good reason to. I've shown you a clean comfortable home. You will now fuck off and… well… I don't give a damn…' Floyd curled his top lip at them. 'I've now got the most vile images in my head of the pair of you licking each other out. Thanks for that.' He slammed the door and leaned on it until he heard their car drive away.

For Spencer the week went in a puzzling blur of confusion. He had no real hold on what was going on. Floyd played piano for a while one evening but Spencer couldn't even moved from the couch to stand with him and attempt to have a sing-a-long. He felt weak and almost not always quite there…

Obviously what had happened was that Floyd had drugged nearly every food source in the house. The milk, the coffee, the sugar, the salt, the cereal… the sausages, that small cheese and tomato flan… all of the things Floyd knew Spencer would primarily go for first had been laced with sedatives. And why the hell not? Spencer had said that it would happen, so it might as well happen here as in a small shop out at the lakes with the sun twinkling off the water and a shop full of weird and wonderful things which everyone local would loath them for. It amused Floyd. He liked to see Spencer so weak that he had to crawl up the stairs at night…

Snap, snap, snap… Floyd could bite at his lazy arse as he crawled.

Floyd liked to be able to shout at Spencer for spilling his coffee or his food.

It amused Floyd! No one was complaining. No one… and if they did, well, Floyd would rip tongues from heads. It was only mildly irritating that Spencer showed no interest in the shop Floyd was thinking of buying. He showed no interest in the small house which jutted out over the lake. He showed no interest in the books and herbs and sticks and pebbles. He also showed no interest when Floyd rattled down the stairs (this was towards the end of the week, just before Sam was due to come home,) and announced that he was going to be a fortune teller… 'Red scarf on my head, tarot cards… the whole shit.'

'But you can't tell fortunes.' Spencer pointed out.

'Who gives a fuck?' Floyd replied. 'Look at these lovely…' but Spencer was asleep before Floyd could finish what he was saying. Of course the sleepy Spencer was kissed and licked and then Floyd made for sure that he was properly asleep… He ran a finger lightly over the dressing on Spencer's arm and contemplated pulling it off and probing it deeply with a his finger, but then grinned, gave Spencer a kiss on the cheek and curled up alone… at least for now, on the rug by the fire. He pulled himself back into the squashy darkness and hauled arse to this lovely glowing tent, only to be informed by the smug son of a bitch Az that Sam had been to see him. Thus when Spencer woke up a good seven hours later, Floyd had silently started to wreck their garden. He'd gone out and ripped up every flower he could find. Spencer found him sitting with his hands stained green and a deep contemplative frown on his face.

Spencer hoped this meant that the big adventure getting a shop and being a fortune teller had been dropped.

He was wrong.

'Hey sleepy head.' Floyd flicked stray hair off his face and grimaced at a very tired looking Spencer. 'You look like shit.'

Spencer sat on the mutilated lawn and plucked at a few blades of grass. He knew that Floyd had drugged him. It had happened enough times for him to recognise that fuzzy headed feeling when he woke up and the way his tongue felt too fat for his mouth and his eyes watered like crazy. 'You drugged me.' Spencer mumbled at the lawn. It wasn't an accusation, but a general observation. 'I wish you'd not.' This time a statement without much hope and for a very good reason. Floyd swung forwards and gave Spencer a light kick on the upper arm. It got a good result. Spencer howled in pain and threw himself out of the way of further kicks. 'What was _that_ for?' Spencer was carefully rubbing at his dressing.

'I've been good recently.' That was plenty to explain everything, but he carried on. 'I want us to be happy. I'm happy when I'm free to fuck around and I'm not free to fuck around when you're awake, because honey bun, I don't trust you. And we need to talk about Sam's teeth and other Sam crap going on, because he's a fucking liar. You must never forget that. Nearly every fucking word which comes out of his mouth is a lie.' Floyd lied. 'And I know he's going to kick up and cause ructions between the quiet loving family home we have here. He'll do anything in his power to upset. So just don't listen to him.' Floyd wanted to tell Spencer not to listen to Sam about anything involving Az, but that'd be taking things too far and Spencer's addled mind might even connect things, because Floyd was very sure that Sam was going to say something. 'How's the arm?' Floyd now asked in a much calmer voice.

'It would have felt better if you'd not kicked me.' Spencer sighed his small complaint. 'Floyd, can I ask you something? I don't want you to get annoyed or upset, but I need to know.'

Now Floyd rocked back on the swing and dropped off so he was laying on his back with his legs still hooked over the wooden seat. 'Ask away, Babes. What's troubling you, cos you have a little kitten scowl going on there.'

Spencer looked at Floyd laying on the grass and shook his head slightly. The man was acting strangely. He just wasn't acting like _Floyd_. 'When we were in The Bastion… what actually happened. What did you agree to, because, yes you're drugging me; I'm aware of that, and yes you're hitting me and getting rough when…'

'When I fuck you…' Floyd helped out.

'Yes… but…'

'I'm not clouting you in anger.' Floyd muttered.

Spencer sighed and looked over at Floyd who was still laying still with his legs hooked over the swing. 'What was the deal?'

'A demand? You're demanding I tell you, or is that just a small request?'

'A request.' Spencer replied.

Floyd pulled a smoke out of his pocket and tossed it over to Spencer and then got one for him self, lit up and threw over the lighter. 'A request. In that case I don't have to tell you. Really Spence, it's best you don't know. Just be sure that it's nothing that's going to cause you physical pain. I've not sold your soul or any such crap.' Floyd blew smoke out of his nose and placed a hand over his heart. 'Hand on heart, Babes. Whatever it was was purely for your benefit.'

'And why don't I believe you? Why are you so miserable? Did they make you say you'd not hit me?'

Floyd raised a hand at Spencer and snatched the lighter out of the air as it was thrown back to him. 'Sometimes ignorance is a wonderful thing Spencer. You don't want to know what was said. Really you don't. It'd do your head in. It's doing _my_ head in and I'm used to their constant shit. I'm trying my best. Just go with the flow OK.'

It wasn't going to be that easy though. Spencer could see how tense Floyd was. He could see that almost constant twitching of the muscle next to his eye and pretty soon Floyd was going to go out on a murdering rampage (again) and how he'd not been picked up for the last one Spencer didn't know. Some fluke in the system hadn't yet connected the incidences with Floyd. 'I'm… Floyd I'm scared.' That was about how it was.

'Scared of me?' Floyd finally pulled his legs down and rolled over to get a better look at his battered babes.

'Of what you will do if you keep this charade up. I can see you're about to explode. I don't want to be the one who you explode over and I don't want it to be Sam either.'

'Don't put restrictions on what I can and can't do. I hope that's not what you're attempting to do, because you know I hate that sort of shit and if you think I can't hurt you, then again you're thinking along a train of thought which could end up bloody and deadly. I'm trying to be a good person Spencer. I'm trying to not be the one person in the neighbourhood who everyone would like to spit on but are too afraid to. I want to know my bike wont get scratched if I leave it out side. I don't want you to be abused and pointed at and mocked. I want a nice life.

'and for that reason I'm going to get us a shop. And no more moaning. I'm doing it. If you showed an inch of interest I'd show you the place. I've seen it. Put in an offer they'd not dare refuse. Life is going to be grand.'

'You know Sam will hate living in the middle of no where don't you?' Spencer pointed out.

'Hardly the middle of no where and I want to keep Sam away from the towns and cities until I've figured out what's going on with those fucking teeth of his. It's for a season only. Unless we really get down and into the groove there and decide to stay.'

Spencer gave a small half smile. 'It's not that I don't want to go… no it _is_ that I don't want to go, it's not the idea of it I'm opposed to, it's just that you've tried in the past to take us somewhere nice, and to make things good for us. I know you have. And every time something horrific happens. We're not permitted to be settled and happy. The… _They_ aren't going to let it happen.' Spencer stubbed out his cheroot and flicked the butt into the undergrowth. 'Come on in and show me all the things you have planned. I want to be excited and happy about it. Convince me.'


	28. Chapter 28

28

They sat side by side at the table and Floyd showed Spencer his plans. He showed the layouts for the small house and the shop. He pointed out the boat houses on the lakes, the railway, the bridges. He went over cost and expenditure with Spencer. He showed where the buses stopped so Sam could get to the local college.

'Wait.' Spencer put a hand over Floyd's. 'College? I thought we were just going for the summer season. I thought this was like a vacation with a shop attached. A shop which as you pointed out wont make any profit and will actually be making a heavy loss. Why would Sam need college?'

Well this was typical of Spencer. Give him a diamond and he'd complain about the damned cut! Floyd slammed the lid down on the laptop and pushed away from the table. He rubbed at his eyes with his fingertips and then at his temples. 'If it works. If we like it, we might want to stay longer. I was merely pointing out that Sam can, if he chooses, go to college.'

Spencer wanted to open the laptop again and check that Floyd hadn't just broken it, but he planted his hands on his own knees and sighed. 'It's idyllic. It's beautiful. The location is wonderful. I can see why you want to go there, but…' Spencer heard Floyd scrape back his chair and stand. He listened to him walk to the drinks cabinet and pull out a decanter and a glass. '… but I just get the horrible feeling that something dreadful will happen and we'll be in some tiny village which is only really open in the summer and we'll have no contact with the outside world…'

'It's not the fucking moon! It's just up the coast a bit! You just want to spoil everything. You want to make it… _wrong_, but I'm going and I'm taking Sam with me. If you want to join us you're welcome. If you don't then just… well… I'll have to dope you up and force you to come with me. You think you can't dump me that easily? You think I'm going to allow you to stay here alone? With that fucker Morgan in the same area? Are you mental? Oh… don't bother answering that question because we _all_ know the fucking answer to that! Don't we! You're one of the most selfish, self centred fuckers on the damned planet! I need to get away. Sam will need somewhere to rest and you just want to put the mockers on it.'

Spencer stood and walked to the window. From here he could see the front lawn, the big old tree which would cover the ground in leaves in the fall. He could see the corner of the garage where Floyd had a couple of bikes chained to rings set into the floor. He could see the van which Floyd had purchased at some point… now Spencer assumed rightly that it was to take them on their trip up state and to the lakes Floyd seemed to think he should love. He could see the house across the road and Amanda's car parked in the drive. A large red car with music playing too loudly went by too fast. A bird was circling in a slightly cloudy sky. It was nice. Not perfect, but nice. It felt like home. It felt safe. Why the hell did Floyd want to move again?

'Just as I was feeling like this was my home, you want to move on again.' Spencer muttered.

'I don't like feeling too rooted down. It's time. Just for a few months. Until the snow. I want to get Sam away from this place. We've only just hooked up again after all that time apart. I want something good. Something healthy.'

Spencer nodded and turned so his back was to the window. 'If you are doing this for Sam, maybe you should ask what he wants. If you are doing this for me, then ask me what _I_ want. But I'm guessing that you are just doing this because you don't like to feel contentment. You enjoy the struggles of getting to fit in somewhere new. Sam will hate it.'

Floyd smacked his glass down on the mantle. 'You know what? I'm going out. I'm going to pay for sex and I'm going to go bareback and hope to catch some nasty disease. I'll be back tomorrow and go get Sam. Then we will pack. I have a few other things I need to do. So let us say that you have two more days here. Keep away from Morgan. Keep away from Hotchner. Don't answer the door to strangers. Have a nice day.' Floyd walked from the room, slamming the door behind him. Spencer watched him from the window. He watched Floyd drive off in that old van and that itching and scratching started behind his eyes.

o-o-o

There was a lot of security at The Hotchner house, but nothing which bothered Floyd. He could get by the camera on the wall out front and by the one stuck on the upper wall out back too. He could open the locks and walk right in. He didn't need to know the combination of the security lock, but it amused him that Hotchner changed it so regularly.

Hotch was out. Floyd knew that. A hot date with a call girl… at least that's what Floyd was imagining. The baby sitter was staying over night and sleeping upstairs in the spare room. Floyd knew all of this and tonight was the perfect night. He was pissed off with Spencer, Sam wasn't home yet, Hotchner was out… Inez was baby sitting. Perfect.

Inez had a habit of never turning off lights. Floyd thought it was her out right terror of the dark, but it might have been her innate laziness. It really didn't matter either way. After tonight Inez's fears of the dark would be either reconciled… or she would wake up screaming for the rest of her life. Floyd thought it would be some kind of reconciliation though. At least that was his intention.

He walked through the kitchen, being careful as he went to pull on the latex gloves. He walked silently through the hall and to the foot of the stairs. There he stood for maybe up to ten minutes with his head cocked to one side. He was listening. Listening carefully for anything which he'd not prepared himself for. It wasn't until he was absolutely certain that he moved slowly up the stairs. Tonight was the night. He could feel his heart racing alarmingly in his chest.

Not with panic or fear that he'd fail…

… but with absolute joy.

Floyd had a change of clothes in the back of his van. He pulled off the bloody coveralls he'd been wearing and stuffed them into a bin bag. He stripped off the clothes he had, washed himself down quickly with a bottle of water, changed his clothes, placed the plastic sheeting he'd been standing on in the bag and set out to do what he'd told Spencer he'd do. The taste of blood was washing around in his mouth. He could smell death on him. It was a luxury which he craved. Getting away from this damned place would be as good for him as he hoped it would be for Sam and Spencer. Firstly though he dumped his trash and set fire to the dumpster he'd placed it in. A small fire. Nothing tragic… enough to get rid of the evidence though. A lazy smile spread over his face as he stood back watching, a cheroot between his lips and a silver flask of whiskey in his hand.

He spent the rest of his evening in back streets, bars, clubs and sitting feeling content and slightly high.

What a beautiful life he had!

And it could only get better from her on in.

When the crack addict whore sat down next to him and put a hand on Floyd's knee, he smiled a lazy smile and gave the lad nod. 'Would be my pleasure. Not paying you though.'

The crack addict nodded and got to his knees. Payment not necessary. The payment was the pleasure of not being killed. Floyd ran his fingers over the lad's head and thought of the whore he'd torn apart and removed the head. He thought of how he'd carried that head around with him all night, loving it occasionally… touching it… rubbing it over his face… Floyd asked what the lad's name was. He wanted, if it came to it, to be able to say who he'd been with that night. He took the chap somewhere quieter than the bench and gave the lad something surprising and beautiful. They both left the alcove behind the bins happy, sated… high.

o-o-o

Hotch knew that something was wrong as soon as his car silently pulled up in front of his home. The curtains were closed. It was mid day. Why were they still closed. He called the house phone. He'd tried earlier to say that he was on his way home and there had been no reply. Now yet again there was no reply and calling Inez on her cell phone didn't result in anything but a message that she wasn't available. Hotch slipped out of the car, clutching the keys tightly in his hand and walked to the front door. It was locked. Secure. Safe. He glanced up at the small security camera… again it filled him with a bit of hope that nothing had happened and they were just out somewhere. But maybe not enough hope… not as much hope as Hotch would have liked. He carefully slipped the key into the door and pushed it open.

Hotch's world fell apart.

As the police cars whooped and squealed their way to the Hotchner residence, Floyd and Spencer were on their way to pick Sam up from the hospital. Spencer hadn't asked Floyd where he'd been the previous night and Floyd didn't offer any details, but to Spencer, Floyd seemed relaxed and happy. The fact that Spencer wasn't didn't seem to make much difference. The fact that Floyd was babbling on again about life out on The Lake was just winding Spencer up all the more. They were in the van and Floyd was saying how it would only take a few days to get to the place and then they could really relax away from all the stress of every day life. Away from the fumes of traffic and away from the dirt and filth. Spencer nodded in all the right places and said 'yes.' When he felt it was necessary, but he really wasn't listening all that well. He was wondering how Sam was going to fit in with them. Life had seemed good and normal all the time Sam hadn't been with them, and now he was coming back it was shifting and Spencer's own security was shifting with it. He didn't want to share Floyd… at least he didn't think he wanted to. He also didn't want Sam… at least he didn't think he wanted to…

'Are you sure Sam is fit enough for the trip?' Spencer asked as they pulled up into the hospital parking lot.

Floyd turned to look at his beautiful companion and wished oh so much that he could hurt him. He wanted that so much! Even what he'd done the previous night didn't stop him from wanting that! He thought it would have done. He thought that getting one obstacle out of the way would feel like freedom but no… now he felt as though a flood gate had opened. Floyd tightened his hands on the steering wheel and took a few deep hard breaths. 'Get out of the fucking van will you?' Floyd snapped. Trouble was going to start. Floyd was aware of that and he didn't want it to start right here. He wanted firstly to get Sam. Get that sorted and then fight the accusations which were surely going to come flying in his direction.

There were strict instructions via Floyd to Spencer that _he_ was going to tell Sam about the surprise. Spencer was to keep his mouth shut. Spencer was not to mention the teeth business and Spencer had to wait in the corridor… 'Sit and shut up.' Floyd had told Spencer and he'd done as he was told. Hospitals are not the place to start a lovers squabble.

Sam today was wearing shin length skinny jeans, a very small tight vest top with Mickey Mouse's face on the front and a small black hoodie. He had sandals on his feet and a miserable look on his face

Oh yes! Sam was happy to be going home! Wherever the hell _home_ was, but he wasn't very happy about something else and he wanted to be able to shout at Floyd about the Az business, but Floyd was there being so nice and helpful and sort of in a Floyd type of way, he was being kind. And it was creeping Sam out.

'I'm in pain.' He kept up this chant until Floyd lovingly grabbed him by the balls and offered to show him real pain.

'I'll get you a fix, just stop making a fuss about it here.'

o-o-o

Sam didn't _want_ to play the piano. He didn't _want_ to play the fucking violin! He didn't want a bedroom with green curtains. Fuck the swing! Swings are for kids! He hated the bike. He didn't like the house and loathed the neighbourhood. This was all made very clear in the first five minutes he'd stepped in the door.

'The kitchen smells funny. It's too small. The garden is a fucking mess and don't you bloody well expect _me_ to mow that just because _you_ think it's a happy picture. I'm not happy. I hate it here! Oh my fucking god! What the fuck? I hate you! I hate you…' He was going to say that he hated them both but the fist to the side of his head shut him up for a little while. He'd already smashed the violin and the glass in the back door was cracked. This was going to be fantastic! The situation only got better because Sam blurted out something about Floyd having a deep dark secret…

'And I bet you've not told Spencer have you?'

The bored look was wiped off Spencer's face, the pissed off look disappeared from Floyds and Sam turned and ran up the stairs to the bedroom which he said he hated, shouting. 'I fucking hate you!' as he slammed the door.

'Well that went well.' Spencer muttered as he began to pick up bits of broken violin. 'I guess he didn't want this then.'

'Only cost me five grand.' Floyd prodded at a shard of wood with his toe. 'He had no regard for beauty in anything but himself. 'Tis not the money I'm pissed with. It was rare. Not so rare, but you know what I mean. It can't be replaced. And that pisses me off. No, actually Spencer, it makes me sad. Virtually brings me to tears. Why the fuck did he do that?'

Spencer put an arm around Floyd's shoulders. Floyd seemed pale and now that Spencer was in physical contact with the man he thought he must love beyond anything else, he could tell that Floyd was shaking. Anger? Sadness? Spencer couldn't tell. 'He'd be happier with a game machine of some kind. Really I don't think Sam is interested in the arts in the same way you are. Can you play piano?' Spencer wasn't sure that he'd ever seen Floyd play.

'Sure.' But he didn't provide an example. There really wasn't time. Someone was hammering on the door. Someone whose voice Spencer recognised and he was sure that Floyd did too. It was Derek Morgan of all people.

'Open the door Flanders!' He was yelling and hammering his fist. 'Open the door you son of a bitch!'

Floyd prodded Spencer and nodded towards the kitchen. 'Go make coffee. It's OK. I'm not going to hurt him. Everything is going to be great. Just great.'

Floyd really did for a moment think that Morgan was going to put a bullet in his head without even asking any questions. He made brief eye contact with Morgan and nodded to him and indicated for him to come in, just as Spencer let out a loud yelp from the kitchen. Something crashed to the floor and shouts of… 'Get your hands behind your head now!' …were heard.

'Spencer's done nothing. Actually, I've done nothing. What the fuck is all this about? Sam! Get your arse down here! What's Sam done? It has to be Sam as it wasn't me or Spencer and you seem pretty sure it was one of the three of us.'

'Oh we're pretty sure we know.' Morgan spat at Floyd. 'You will…'

'Don't make threats Derek. Please don't threaten me.' Floyd's hand were pulled behind his back and plastic binders were placed over his wrists. He heard that Spencer was having his rights read. He could even hear that Sam, who was kicking off big time upstairs was being read his rights. And now it was Floyd's turn. This was the most insane thing that had happened since… well… that was hard to put an actual time and date on, now that Floyd was actually thinking about it. He went peacefully.

His compliance was the most startling thing of it all.

Derek had wanted an excuse to kill the bastard. He'd desperately wanted that excuse, but the son of a bitch was being compliant. He was not struggling or even swearing all that much. It made Derek want to kill him all the more.

o-o-o

An unknown face was talking to Spencer. They didn't want him to be questioned by someone he knew. 'Where were you last night?' Was the first thing he was asked after all the preliminaries had been dealt with.

'At home.'

'Alone?'

'Yes. Alone.' Spencer muttered.

'Can you speak up please?' He was asked.

'I was at home alone last night. I warmed up something to eat in the mircrowave and I sat and read until I thought I should go to bed. I knew that today was going to be stressful and I wanted an early night. I was in bed by around ten in the evening and I think it was nearly midnight when I last looked at the alarm clock. I awoke at around eight in the morning and I showered, did necessary things, got dressed, had some toast and honey and I… I checked the laptop for things.'

'What sort of things?'

'We are thinking – we have got a shop. I was going to start researching things for the stock, but I never got very far… I erm… I got… I was… I got distracted by something.' Spencer was cracking his knuckles nervously. His whole body posture was of someone ready to get up and run for it. He looked like a deer caught in the headlights.

'What was it you got distracted by?' The man in the black suit asked Spencer.

'I don't think that has anything to do with anything.' Spencer said. 'It's not illegal. I know that. So why am I here? What has happened that you needed to bring us all in for.

'You know a young boy called Jack Hotchner?'

'Jack? Yes of course I know Jack… My god… please don't tell me something happened to Jack?'

'I don't know… you tell me. Has something happened to Jack?' The suit asked. 'Did you leave the house last night? Did you go and pay Jack a little visit?'

'Jack? No… no… no I didn't leave the house. No.'

'And what about Flanders. You said you were alone. Where was Flanders last night?'

Spencer stood up and kicked out in anger at his chair. It was a very un-Spencer like thing to do, but this was insanity. They'd only talked about moving away and the shit had hit the fan and they were being blamed. 'I don't know! He has his own life. He goes out. I don't keep tabs on him. He's an adult. I'm an adult…'

'He hits you.' The suit told Spencer.

'What?' Spencer put a hand to his face where there was a bruise fading slowly. He sat down again quickly. 'Yes, yes he hits me. I hit him. We like it that way. It's… it… we… Floyd and I…'

'A sexual act?'

Spencer nodded.

'Can you speak up for the record please Doctor Reid. Does Flanders hit you when you're having sex?'

'Yes.' Spencer spat at the suit.

o-o-o

'Where were you last night?' Floyd was now being asked by another suit. Not one he recognised. He guessed that whatever this was about – and he had a funny idea what it was (he was trying so very hard not to grin) was too close to home for the _team_ to come and ask.

'I was out.' Floyd told the man. 'I went to some bars. Paid for a whore, had some drinks. The usual stuff.'

The suit gave Floyd a very cold look. 'Can you remember the names of the bars?' Floyd reeled off a list of places he'd been to the previous night. People had seen him at all of them. 'You were busy.' The suit told Floyd.

'I like to get out of the house sometimes and mingle. I was _mingling_ for most of the evening.'

'What was the name of the woman you paid for? Where did you pick her up? Where did you go?'

'The name given to me was Alfie, but I doubt that was his real name. Don't look so shocked and disgusted, I'm a fag and not going to hide that fact. The boys all know. I have a boyfriend… a lover, but we have an understanding that it's quite open in that respect. Ask Agent Derek Morgan. He has some inside info on the relationship Dr Reid and I have. So yeah, his name was Alfie. I paid him two hundred bucks even though I don't really think street whores should get that much cash. They only spend it on drugs. I met him down by Eddington Lane… you might know it. It's renowned for the whoring and drugs. I had him in an old shop doorway. I was in the mood to receive some fun and I kindly let Alfie screw me. It really was nothing special, but the blow he gave, now that was worth every dime. He's really good. Tall guy, short cropped brown hair and green eyes… he's got a mole on his face.' Floyd indicated a place on his own face. 'So we had our fun and then just sat smoking and sharing a drink. It was nice company.'

'You enjoy the company of drug dependant whores?' The suit asked. That look of disgust hadn't yet left his face.

'I do. I love it. I love the dirt and the filth. I enjoy the whole seedy aspect of screwing around in public places. Toilets, back streets, bus shelters… you know? There's something decidedly _naughty_ about it all. Why do you want to know what I was doing last night anyway?'

'Do you know Jack Hotchner?'

'I do… why?'

'Did you see Jack last night?'

'Not unless he's aged a couple of decades and changed his name to Alfie. No, I didn't see Jack last night. Last time I saw Jack was at the park. Spencer was away and I had a picnic in the park with a neighbour. I was lonely. She was lonely. I made up a lovely picnic. Jack happened to be there. Soccer practice or something. I didn't know till he came over and started talking to me. His father had a bit of a tantrum and clobbered me one. He was quite an embarrassment. Frightened my friend. We left. That was the last time I saw Jack Hotchner. And that, I assure you wasn't planned. I didn't see him last night. Why the hell would I have seen him last night?'

'You send him gifts.' The suit now told Floyd.

'Yeah… I've done that. He seemed like a nice kid and Hotchner is such a stuffed shirt. Just wanted to give…'

'Do you think it's your place to hand out gifts to children? Do you think that is slightly strange?'

Floyd sighed. 'I don't have kids of my own. My daughter passed away. I like children. I like to see them happy. Agent Aaron Hotchner is a friend of Spencer's. I can't see why that's wrong.' Floyd gave a shrug.

'You seem to cause trouble wherever you go. You've served time in prison.'

'No… again you're wrong. I don't cause trouble. Trouble follows Spencer. I'm always with Spencer, thus the trouble finds me too. It's not something I go out actively seeking.'

'You are a violent psychopath.' The suit let Floyd know.

'If that's what the paperwork says. It's wrong, but can't argue with paperwork now can I?'

'I want you to sit there and try to remember every face you saw last night. I'm going to check out these names and places. Make yourself comfortable. I might be some time.'

'Whilst you're out there…' Floyd spoke up as the suit stood to leave, '… go fuck yourself.' He finished with a smile on his face.

o-o-o

'Where were you last night?' Sam was asked by a suit.

'Angels of Extreme Mercy Hospital… or something. I don't know the name of the place. I was in hospital. I got shot a short while back but as I have absolutely gob smackingly good healing rate I was allowed home. That doesn't mean I'm not still in dreadful pain though. So yeah, last night I was in hospital and I get home for the first time in a fucking year or more and you bloody come barging in and wreck my life for me. I just want my bed and my things and to be wanted and loved! All I want is to be a normal boy!' Nothing else Sam said made any sense at all. He rested his head on the table and cried and refused to speak further. He wouldn't tell them what his relationship was with Floyd and he'd not talk about Spencer. He shouted at one point that Az was a fucking stone in his shoe and he was going to do something about it, but that made no sense to anyone. The name Az hadn't been mentioned before. They asked Sam if he prostituted himself. This was answered in a wail of negativity and pain. 'Do I look like a whore? Do I? I'm only sixteen! Oh my fucking god!' And more tears. The interview with Sam Trent was ended. They didn't think he knew anything and there was solid proof that he spent the previous night in the hospital. They did wonder if the lad needed psychiatric help though. They'd never seen anyone cry and release quite as much mucus from the nose as Sam managed.

Sam was proud of his performance. He thought he could have got an Oscar for it.

o-o-o

They got a search warrant for Floyd's home. They got one for his van. They took the laptop and started a rummage through his and Spencer's things. They discovered nothing which was illegal in the home. Nothing. No drugs, no weapons… some odd sex toys which made eyes water just imagining what they were for, but nothing illegal. At all. The laptop was investigated and there were things again which raised eyebrows and made people say 'Oh dear god in heaven.' But again it wasn't illegal as suck. Sick and twisted and not quite right…maybe it showed signs that the owner of the laptop needed help in… well… just HELP! But there was absolutely nothing there which could be used against them. At least not unless Spencer wanted to press charges against Floyd. This though had nothing to do with what had happened to Jack. Spencer and Floyd's sex life wasn't really connected to the case at all.

o-o-o

Hotch sat on a big red chair, rocking slightly back and forth with his hands pressed against his eyes. He wanted to block it out, but knew that he'd spend the rest of his life seeing what he'd seen. He had begged every god he could think of for that mess not to have been what it seemed to be. They had dragged him from the house and given him what comfort you can give a father when he's just seen the torn up remains of what used to be his only child.

Hotch knew who had done this.

He knew. He just needed someone to prove it.

So far they were keeping him out of the loop. Dave was sitting ashen faced next to Aaron who didn't seem to know what was going on around him any longer.

Dave had been listening to what was being said though. No sign of a break in. So far no fingerprints. Whoever did it must have been covered in blood. They must have left a trace somewhere. Someone, somewhere out there knew who did it.

They were saying that it must have taken a good few hours to have mutilated both people in the house that way. Floyd could have told them that he was actually in and out within half an hour. But then Floyd wasn't going to shit all over his alibi. That would have been pure insanity. There was also no one showing up on the security cameras. They thought whoever had done it had come in through the back, but even that they were unsure of. There was nothing. Just nothing but blood and body parts spread over the house.

'More than one person involved.' Dave heard someone saying.

'The girl let someone in.' Another person said.

'I'm going to go and talk to him.' Dave whispered his words to Hotch. Haley's sister is on her way. The doctor is here. I will… I'll…' Dave didn't want to leave his friend, but the need to get Floyd to admit to this was greater. 'I'll be back soon.' There was no response from Aaron.

o-o-o

Floyd looked up when Rossi walked in. They looked into each other's tired eyes. Dave had two mugs of coffee. He placed one in front of Floyd and kept the other in his hand as he sat. 'Just wanted to ask you some things.'

Floyd sipped on his drink and nodded for Rossi to carry on. 'Ask away. I don't know what it is I'm meant to have done.'

'Jack was killed.'

The mug Floyd was holding was placed down on the table with a clatter and a splash. 'And they think I killed him?'

'They seem pretty sure of it.' Dave kept a hold of his drink.

'Nice! So I'm not only a raping cannibal but I kill kids too? What did I do? Fuck him first? Want to put the good old pedo tag on me as well. This is wonderful. Poor kid. What happened.'

Dave placed a pack of smokes on the table. 'I was hoping you could help us out there. You have quite an alibi for last night.'

'Not an intentional one. If I had needed one I'd have made a better job of it than going to a few bars and having a whore. Do I look that stupid to you?'

'I know you're not stupid. That's why I am confused by this. I really don't know why you would have hurt that small boy. What pleasure you would have received from doing something so crass. It was crass. Whoever did it was an animal. And I will find out who did it and I will see that they never touch another child again.'

Floyd ran a finger through the spilt drink and then sucked on his finger. 'I'm not into kids. You know that. It's not my thing. I am a lot of nasty things according to you, but I don't mess with children.'

Rossi pushed the pack of smokes over towards Floyd. 'We all know that's not entirely true. You can deny it all you want. You can pressure Sam into denying it, but we don't need to see you doing the act to know that you abuse that boy. He's legally still a child. So, yes, Flanders, you do mess with children. As far as I'm aware, Jack _was_ a bit young for you. What was wrong? He wasn't growing up fast enough? He was too slow? What was it about him that made you tear his heart from his chest?'

'I didn't.' Floyd said slowly… and no… he'd not done that. 'I didn't hurt that child.'

'You tore into him with your bare hands. Did you have gloves on? Didn't that spoil some of the fun?

Oh Rossi was right on the nail with that one! 'I didn't hurt him. I didn't hurt Jack.' And if you want to get down to the bare bones of it, Floyd hadn't hurt him. Jack had died too quickly to have experienced pain. This was truth. The way Floyd viewed this he'd not actually hurt Jack. What happened after was maybe unnecessary but he wanted to hurt Hotch. That was what he wanted to hurt.

'How's Hotch doing?' Floyd asked kindly. 'Can I see photos of the scene? I might be able to help. I might have heard something. Wasn't there a group of murders a few weeks back? Can this be connected?'

'Your home is clean. Your bike and van are clean. How did you do it? How did you manage to do that much damage and walk away?'

'I didn't. It wasn't me, Dave. Believe me. I was out that night. I was bar hopping and screwing around.' He shrugged. 'If I'd hurt a child in the way you're suggesting… then someone would have noticed blood. Wouldn't they? Surely.'

'You are an evil man Flanders. I don't know how you manage to get away with things time after time. Who is watching out for you?'

Floyd drank back his coffee. 'The Angels. They watch out for me.'

'What Angels?' Rossi frowned.

'You wouldn't even begin to be able to comprehend it.' Floyd gave Rossi a smug grin. 'But I didn't hurt that kid. I liked Jack. Why the hell would I hurt him?'


	29. Chapter 29

29

They found traces of blood in the kitchen, hallway, stairs, bathroom and the main bedroom. There was also some in the lounge. This though was explained away easily by Floyd who was once again sitting facing the suit. The only difference this time was that he'd asked, for maybe… at least he thought so, the second time in his life… for a lawyer. The woman in the beige suit with the beige hair and matching face sat with a pen in one hand and the other fiddling with a bit of paper.

'You don't have to answer that question.' She sighed. She didn't know why this (obviously guilty) man had asked for her to be here. He was taking no notice of her advice to keep quiet. 'You don't have to talk to these people.' She insisted.

Floyd turned to look at the young beige woman sitting there. 'Shut the fuck up.' He said gently. 'Why wouldn't I tell them why there are traces of blood in my house?' He saw her red lipstick mouth slide into a tight line on her uninteresting face and then turned back to the suit. 'I enjoy rough sex.' Floyd informed the man. 'And so does my partner. We get blood in places. It's nothing to be alarmed about. There is also the matter that I get bad nose bleeds. Very bad nose bleeds. Absolute gushers. So yeah, I'd have been surprised if you'd not found blood in places. I do clean up though, but I'm sure your little people can spray some stuff around and find it all. I will require that you tidy up after you. I've been told that I can be slightly OCD when it comes to hygiene in the home.' Floyd paused. 'I like clean floors and… stuff. The blood will be either mine or Spencer's. If there is blood from something else there, then I'm going to have to leave it to your wonderful lab folks to find out who it is. I'll be as interested as you are in knowing who has been sneaking around my house bleeding and then cleaning up after them.'

The lawyer shifted in her chair and scribbled some notes down. The suit stared over the table at Floyd. 'You really are a jerk aren't you?' The suit told Floyd.'

'If you say so. You're the one in the suit getting paid the big bucks, so yeah… I guess you're right. I am a jerk. I am however completely innocent of any foul deed concerning Master Hotchner.'

'What were you wearing last night?' The suit now asked.

'You don't have to…' The lawyer started to say and then stopped and placed her pen down on the table.

Floyd gave her a small smile. She was learning. 'Dark grey shirt, black waistcoat, black jeans… boots. I had my wallet with me, a belt in my jeans with a buckle with a letter S engraved on it. A silver buckle. The silver buckle I'm still wearing.'

Spencer was asked what Floyd was wearing when he left the house the previous night. Spencer looked confused for a moment. He was tired and the almost constant sedation he'd been under recently had left him muddled and now very tired as well as twitchy and nervous looking.

'I… er…' he started and then asked for another coffee. 'A dark shirt… no tie. Jeans and a double breasted waistcoat.' They wanted to know what he had on his feet and Spencer let them know that Floyd almost always had on western style boots unless he was wearing lace ups. He wasn't actually sure what Floyd had on last night. He wasn't looking at his feet. A grey shirt in a plastic bag was presented to Spencer. Did he think that was the shirt Floyd had on that night? 'I don't know. Impossible to tell. Floyd has a few dark grey shirts. They're all had stitched. He's very fussy about his shirts. He's got a lot of white ones too. I can't tell if that was the actual one he had on.' And now they wanted to know more about the waistcoats and they wanted to know why Floyd dressed so oddly. 'He doesn't dress oddly.' Spencer sighed. 'He just dresses like… well like that. He's not one to follow fashion or trends. He doesn't _not_ wear something just because it might get funny looks. He's just, Floyd. I like the waistcoats.' They wanted to know why someone would spend hundreds of dollars on a shirt and then leave it covered in filth and never wash it. Why did he do that? Why didn't he wash his damned precious shirts? Where did they come from? Who sits and hand sews shirts? Spencer shook his head slowly. 'They're antiques. The buttons are ivory or bone. They are beautiful. Floyd loves things like that. As to why he doesn't wash his clothes…' Spencer leaned his elbows on the table and rested his chin on his hands. 'Floyd considers laundry duty to be the job of a woman. He doesn't trust me to wash them and he wont do it himself. It's purely that. Jeans and stuff… if they're not special items will be washed, but he actually tends not to change his clothing for months on end. He or was wearing the same clothing today as he was last night and the day before and will probably still be wearing it next month. It's just how he is.'

'He showers and then puts dirty clothes back on?' The suit asked

'No. Floyd rarely showers…' That might have been the wrong thing to say. Spencer looked up and saw the room rapidly empty. 'Damn.' Spencer muttered. He rested his head on the table and was asleep before he could even register that he had his eyes closed.

They wanted Floyd to strip.

'You don't have to.' The lawyer mumbled at her pen.

'No? Well then I wont. I've answered all your questions. You have no evidence that I did this heinous crime. You need to be out there to look for who really did this and stop harassing me and my family.' Floyd stood and snapped at the suit.

'A small child…'

'JACK!' Floyd bellowed. 'The fucking child had a name! Use it! He was the child of my boyfriend's work buddy and friend. Why in the name of fuck would I have killed him? Give me one fucking reason why I would want to hurt that kid! Give me a damned reason!'

'Sit.' Floyd sat back down again. 'It's well known that you hold a lot of animosity towards people Spencer works with.' The suit told Floyd.

Floyd felt that it would be a good time to tell them everything. Open his heart and spill the beans. 'If there was someone I would bare a grudge against, it would be Agent Morgan. Until last weekend I had nothing against Hotchner at all. Nothing. You are looking at the wrong person for the wrong reasons.'

The suit nodded. 'And what is it you have against Agent Morgan?'

And again Floyd was on his feet and the lawyer's hand was on his arm trying to make him sit again. 'Mind your own fucking business! If I wanted the world to know I'd have announced it in the local rag. I've not and that's the damned way it's going to stay. I want the bastard kept away from me and my family. I want… I want… I have requested that Spencer… we are… Spencer and I…' Floyd stopped and looked at the hand trying to pull him back down to sit. 'Lady, if you don't take your hand off my arm now, I'm going to have to hurt you.'

They let Floyd go.

They didn't want to. They told him that he'd shouldn't leave town for a while. Floyd told them that he had plans. He wasn't going to get dragged into this mess just because some arsehole had killed Jack… 'Give Hotchner my sympathy. Tell him I'll pray for Jack's soul. Tell him that if I see him on the other side I'll take jolly good care of him.' Floyd pinched the bridge of his nose and smiled wanly. 'Having lost a child myself, I can understand the terrible grief he's going through.' Floyd didn't have to mention that he'd killed his child himself. But it was all for a reason! One day someone will realise that. Everything happens for a reason. And actually, maybe Jack would be there on the other side and Floyd could go to see him. He could even drag him down and introduce him to Az… or maybe not.

The three of them were driven home in the back of a cop car. They stayed in complete silence. The only sound to be heard was their heavy breathing. Floyd thought that it looked as though Spencer had been crying, or was Jonesing for something to sooth his worried brow. Spencer definitely looked tired. Sam though had certainly been crying. His eyes were puffy and his nose looked sore. Floyd, now looking at Sam properly for the first time since he'd been out of hospital… really properly… could see that Sam's eye, like long before, was drifting constantly to look at his own nose. Floyd slipped an arm around Sam's shoulders and pulled him in tight and Sam allowed it. Sam sucked up every little bit of love he could get. He didn't care that he was sixteen and still craved attention like this. Sam snuggled in and was almost asleep when the car pulled up outside the house again.

'Remember not to go off anywhere without informing anyone of your new address.' The cop muttered.

'Yeah… I know the rules.' Floyd muttered in return. 'Wont stop me breaking them.' He continued as he slammed the car door and wrapped one arm around Spencer's waist and the other he draped over Sam's shoulders. 'We are going into the house. We are not going to shout at each other. We are going to listen to complaints and sort it all out. Sam, if you don't want to play piano, then fine. Don't destroy it. Spencer can you please make some coffee. We need to talk. The three of us.'

Sam looked up at Floyd with wide eyes. He would have looked so sweet and innocent if it wasn't for that stupid wonky eye. 'Why did you kill Jack? Did you take his heart and liver? Did you decapitate him?'

Floyd grimaced and pinched Sam hard on the bit of soft skin just under his chin. 'Inside. All questions answered.'

'Oh please hurt me again… please… it makes my nipples go all perky with anticipation.' Sam used a low husky voice then ran off to the front door and gave it a nice hefty kick.

'He's going to be trouble.' Floyd moaned. 'The sooner I can take him out fishing…'

Spencer peeled Floyd's other arm away from him and turned to look. 'You better be being honest with me. You better have nothing to do with what happened to Jack. I'll never forgive you if you did that to him.'

Floyd looked offended. 'Moi? Hurt that kiddo? What do you take me for?'

There was no answer to that! No answer. Not one available logged into Spencer's brain.

They sat with a mug of coffee in front of them and hands resting on their own knees. Floyd was trying to explain, calmly, that they were going to move away for a few months and catch some good country air. Sam told Floyd where to stuff his good country air and Floyd told Sam that he was damned lucky to be alive and he owned him a big favour. He was going to take that as a time period of no complaints. 'At least until you've tried it for a week or so.'

'Floyd's going to take you fishing.' Spencer smirked at Sam. 'I'm sure you can't wait for that.'

Floyd elbowed Spencer in the ribs. 'Shut up with the sarcasm. It's going to be good. I'd show you but the cunts still have the laptop with all the info on it. Tomorrow maybe. It does seem that every time one of us steps a foot outside the door that something happens which threatens to up set our happiness, so until we leave for the country and the lakes… and the fishing… we will stay at home.'

'Oh but…' Sam started. '… I… oh Floyd! I need… I want… I want… Floyd I have to, because… I hate you! I fucking hate you! Why don't you just lock me in my room and be done with it! You can't keep me prisoner! You're not my dad! You can't tell me what to do! You're not the boss of me!' He ended his little speech in a yelp as Floyd threw his mug of hot sweet coffee at him. 'You bastard!' Sam was up on his feet and running to the kitchen before more could be said.

Spencer sat staring at the brown stain on the rug. It would never come out. He'd spend all day tomorrow trying to get rid of that and then Floyd will have a tantrum and throw it away anyway. Spencer sighed and listened to the howls of pain coming from Sam and the sounds of running water. 'Was that necessary?'

Floyd had also been looking at the brown wet mark on the rug and wondering if Spencer had something to get rid of it. 'Completely. I will have his compliance. He will do as he's told.' He dragged his eyes from the rug and looked at Spencer. 'I'd not permit you to talk to me like that, so why do you think Sam should get away with it? Do you think he deserves special favour or something? You would rather he talked to me like I was shit on his shoe? You don't want him to show me some respect? Some people, and you're one of them, only respond to pain. Sam just wont listen. If I have to batter him and keep hurting him until I earn his respect then that's what I'm going to do.' Floyd leaned in so close to Spencer that their noses were touching. 'You respect me don't you Spencer? You'd not think of talking to me like that would you?'

Spencer blinked into Floyd's narrowed eyes. 'You know I respect you. You know I love you. You don't need to intimidate me to get respect from me. I would do anything for you.' Spencer whispered the words over Floyd's lips.

'But you're still unsure if I tore Jack's head off or not? How is that respect, Spencer? It's not Jack I have a problem with. Now if it had been Morgan I'd see why you'd suspect something, but Jack? You should know me better by now.'

'I know… I know that nothing you do surprises me. I know that you will cross any boundary to hurt and humiliate, even if it means hurting and humiliating yourself and those you love. I know that sometimes you do things which I just don't understand. I can't understand and never will. So you have to see, Floyd that when something horrific happens and someone is ripped apart… and when that's an MO you use, then people are going to ask questions.'

'So you respect me but you don't trust me?'

'Why would a fucking flea respect you.' Sam hissed from the doorway. 'You're a fucking animal. I would have been better off living on the streets and catching some deadly cock rot than coming back to you. You're a fucking arsehole Floyd. Everyone loathes you. Everyone but Spencer and really I think he must be fucking brain damaged or something. Spencer was the one who rescued me from The Pit. Spencer and Az… oh yeah… talking of Az… seen him recently have you?'

Floyd moved back from Spencer and turned to look at Sam standing half dressed with a big pink scar on his chest and a red sore mark on his stomach from the hot coffee. 'In your room is a box of clothing. Some jewellery. Pretty stuff…' He didn't have to say more. Sam had turned and was thumping up the stairs to locate his treasure. 'I've put a Justin Bieber poster on his wall and one from that Twilight thing.'

'Who, what?' Spencer asked.

'Twilight! You'll love it. It's such chodding crap that we can read it in a night. Wonderful shit. We can save it for when we are away and snuggled.' Floyd paused as heard a yelp from up the stairs and then the sound of ripping paper. 'Well I guess he's not going to get I HEART JB tattooed on his chest just yet.' Floyd smiled at Spencer, but he could see that floating miasmic mistrust there on Spencer's face. 'I'm doing my best Spencer. I don't know what else to do. Sam is just going to keep this shit going until I explode at him.'

'There's a stew waiting in the fridge. I hope you like it. I'll go heat it up and put something in the oven to go with it.' Spencer stood from the couch and then placed a hand on Floyd's head. 'I know you're doing your best. Just don't force anything on him.'

'I wont. He's more likely to force himself on me… on you… on anything which has or at one point had, a pulse… and those teeth.'

'Talking about that can wait. He's not doing anything odd like eating the furniture and no one else has commented on it.' Spencer then decided to broach another subject concerning Sam. 'The thing you said about schools and colleges… I think that you should leave that for now. It's not as though he's got his sights set on getting a job that will use his brain. I'm concerned that he'll think you're pushing him in a direction he's not yet ready to take.'

'You're concerned about Sam?' Floyd looked slightly amused by this. 'OK. I'll not mention it unless I feel it necessary.'

For Floyd the evening was beautiful and calm. His boys were here together and happy. Spencer was only slightly doped up and Sam only moaned a few times. They took it in turns to read and then Sam watched a rerun of a dreadful comedy show.

For Spencer the evening was like he was walking on egg shells. Floyd was almost high with delight and Sam was moping and miserable. Spencer tried to keep the atmosphere light and gave up trying to communicate with Sam when he threw the book across the room and turned on the television. It was a rerun of Golden Girls. Spencer finally relaxed and enjoyed watching something funny and harmless. There had been no raised voices. Finally. Finally things were looking like trouble was behind them.

Sam hadn't been so bored in his _whole fucking life!_ The book was shit and he let them know. The food was disgusting, but Spencer had always been a shitty cook. Floyd was so out of it he was virtually drooling. Sam thought that Floyd had been doing drugs when he slipped out to use the bathroom… but he didn't offer any around to the rest of them. _Selfish bastard_. Spencer had that far away look in his eyes and was twitchy and irritating the hell out of Sam. He turned on the TV and found the crappiest thing he could find and was pissed off to hell and back when Spencer started laughing at the crappy one liners. Could life get any worse? He expected so. He wished he'd not broken the violin now. He'd have played something horrible on it for them. Something to make their ears bleed. Fucking fuck. Sam was now trying to remember why he'd been so desperate to get back to them. Boring arseholes, the pair of them. Sam went to his room in a sulk after he turned off the television and no one complained.

Floyd snuggled under the covers with his Spencer. He pulled him close and wrapped his arms tightly around him. He smelt of soap… he smelt of shampoo. He smelt of security and belonging. He licked at the back of his neck, but Spencer didn't wake. Floyd had been slowly doping him up all evening and planned on paying Az a visit once Spencer was asleep enough for him to be able to risk it. He wiggled in tightly behind Spencer and nibbled on his ear. There was a small moan in reply from his boy. That was good. That was wonderful.

'Floyd?' It was Sam. He had opened the door and was standing there in a red and white kilt which came to somewhere between his arse and his knees. 'Floyd?' He whispered again. 'Is Spencer sleeping?'

Floyd ground his teeth and looked over at the thing in the doorway. 'He's sleeping. What do you want? Go back to your room.'

'I'm lonely. Can I snuggle with you two? I don't like being in there on my own.' Which was bullshit. He liked the room even though he'd said he hated it. He just wanted to make sure that Floyd didn't float away and go to Az. 'You can hit me. I'll let you. Rather me than Az.'

Floyd was out of the bed in a flash and dragging Sam out of the room. He pulled the door shut behind him and pressed Sam hard up against the wall. 'Keep your fucking gob shut.' Floyd hissed at him. 'Spencer doesn't have to know. That's between me and Az. Go back to your damned room and quit trying to spoil things.'

Sam wrapped his arms around Floyd. 'I've missed you so much! Please… do me. Have me… have me over the banisters. Please. I want to feel loved and wanted. I want to know that you love me most. I want…'

Floyd pulled back from Sam. 'But I don't. It's Spencer I want and if you mention Az to him I'll rip your fucking traitorous tongue out of your pretty little mouth and then see how much you can get on the fucking streets.'

'But I know so much stuff. I know you killed Jack.' Sam whispered. 'I know it was you. I could smell your lies. I could sense you'd done it. So you'd better do what I damned well want and show me your favour or I'm going to blab it all out to Spencer and he'll hate you. Even though you think he wont, I know he will. He's still got some morals left, even if you've managed to erode most of his common sense. He'll hate you for it. Did you fuck him? Did you fuck Jack?'

Floyd grabbed Sam around the neck. 'Don't you threaten me. Don't you ever threaten me. You're just my dog. Don't forget that, Sam. Just a fucking hole for me to masturbate into.' He tightened his hold and lifted Sam off the ground. He watched Sam's lips curl back from his teeth in anger and he looked at the sharp shark like teeth open and snap together. Floyd pushed Sam hard against the wall. 'Is that a threat dog?' The mouth closed as Sam kicked out and landed a good one on Floyd's shin. 'Struggle and you're dead. Right here, right now… dead. You don't even know what pain is. You want me to show you? You want to experience real pain?' He let go of Sam and watched him go down to his knees on the strip of wood next to the skirting boards. 'Good. Now you will keep that mouth closed and you will learn who your master is. Understand me?'

'Fucking wanker.' Sam moaned as he rubbed at his neck.

He might have had more to say, but Floyd kicked him and he didn't stop kicking him until there was silence from the dog. Floyd didn't go back and carry on hugging Spencer. He slid down the wall next to Sam and sat there for the rest of the evening stroking the dog's hair. He didn't want to have to kill him, but he would. Sam had been lucky tonight. Floyd had taken his boots off before he went to bed. He thought that had he still had his boots on the option of not killing Sam yet would be moot. The boy would be a smear on the floorboards.


	30. Chapter 30

30

Twice the following morning, Spencer fell asleep as he was trying to get the coffee stain off the rug. He just seemed to slide forwards and drop from his knees to his face. Floyd had been watching the frantic spraying from the pink bottle and the hectic rubbing of the rug. If Spencer did manage to get the mark off the rug the texture in that place would be ruined and a two hundred year old rug would be thrown out. He let Spencer carry on though. At least his boy knew where his place was. Knew what was expected of him. Floyd watched again as Spencer's shoulders slumped and his hands reached out at some imaginary something in front of him and fell to his face again. There was a slight suggestion in Spencer's slugging foggy behaviour today that Floyd maybe, just maybe, over did the sedatives the day before. All was cool. It was OK. It meant that Spencer didn't have the energy to ask why Sam looked so battered today. Either didn't have the energy or hadn't noticed. Either was good with Floyd.

Sam sat on the back porch with a bottle of lager and a smoke in his hand. He was not the happiest bunny on the planet today. He hurt on almost every part of his body and wanted to get quietly drunk alone. That wasn't going to happen though. Floyd sat down next to him and put a hand on Sam's bare knee. Sam was still wearing the kilt thing and today he'd added a shiny, red sleeveless top, which was unbuttoned.

'We need to talk.' Floyd informed Sam.

Sam turned his head to look at Floyd and shrugged slightly. 'When the end of the world finally happens, I hope you survive. I hope you stand there with your fucking bastard Angels and see everything you love gone. I hope you're the most lonely person ever. I hate you.' Sam said this mildly, but Floyd could hear that Sam meant what he was saying. 'I know what you did.' He continued. 'And Spencer might never know, but I know. I know what you did and I know what you're continuing to do. You tell that poor fuck that you love him… you don't know the meaning of the word. You have no idea what it means. Lying and cheating… that's not love.'

Floyd squeezed Sam's knee, digging in fingernails until he felt the skin pop and the sticky blood begin to flow. Sam didn't even blink. He stared Floyd right in the eyes and Floyd looked carefully back. 'I have a habit of eliminating threats. I have a lethal and messy solution to such. Don't force my hand Sam. I want us to be happy. I want us to get along…'

'But you are lying to Spencer. He's so doped up he can't stay awake. How is that being happy?'

'Does he look miserable?' Floyd thumbed over his shoulder back towards the house. 'Spencer is happy, but that's not what we need to talk about. I need to know about those teeth of yours.'

Sam placed a slightly shaking hand over the one which was digging into his leg. 'I don't know. It happened when I was down The Pit. When I fell I lost a load of teeth. The ones I had left just fell out and a new lot grew and sometimes they're almost normal and sometimes they're different.'

'Demonic.' Floyd added. 'Do you have control over it?'

'Absolute. You're hurting me.' Sam's hand tightened over Floyd's.

'You want me to do this to your eyes? You want these fingers pressing into those stupid eyeballs of yours. You want to feel them popping and feel the liquid ooze down your cheeks, because if you say one damned word to Spencer about Jack or Az you are going to feel that sort of pain.'

'You killed Jack.' Sam told Floyd.

'I didn't hurt him.' Floyd looked at Sam who seemed to lift his head slightly. He saw the flaring of the nostrils and the slight parting of his lips and there were those sharp teeth again… They looked wet, drool covered, maybe venomous, but if Sam could smell a lie coming from Floyd he didn't show it. 'You will put unnecessary thoughts into Spencer's head. Let's just try to have some peace. I'll not take you to the garage and tear those monstrous things out of your mouth if you keep your thoughts to yourself.'

Sam again tried to get Floyd's hand off his knee. 'Why do you want me around? You don't like me. Why don't you release me?'

'I will.' Floyd moved his hand now and licked the blood of his fingers. 'But you're not ready. You can't survive alone. You'll not live a decade out there let alone an eternity. When you're ready, sure I'll let you go. You are my immortality. My future.'

'Lame fuck.' Sam spat down at Floyd as he stood. 'You're just a fucking bullying arsehole and your pathetic attempts at showing feelings and emotions wont wash with me. I know you don't feel fuck all for anyone. It's just greed. You see something you like and you try to keep it all for yourself, but that's not love. It's not anything more than… well… it's a drug to you. You're Spencer dependant.' Sam showed his dripping pointy teeth to Floyd again and let out a long damp sounding hiss.

Floyd looked at the expression on Sam's face. He'd meant it when he said he'd rip those teeth out, but threatening to do something and actually doing it were very different things. Seeing those nasty things growing there in Sam's jaw made Floyd wonder if he could actually remove them without removing the front of Sam's skull with them.

The chime of the doorbell didn't disturb Spencer in his deep dream free sleep. Sam ignored it, but got up and started to walk down the back garden towards the swing. That left Floyd to get up off the back porch and walk around the side of the house to see who was prodding the little brass coloured button next to the door. Floyd was thinking about having the damned thing removed. It didn't feel right having a poncy little bell. He liked to hear someone hammering with fists on his door.

Floyd walked around the corner of his nice family home to see Rossi standing there with his finger pressed against the door post where the bell button sat. He was going to pull back and pretend he'd not seen him, but too late. The finger was removed from the bell and Rossi turned to look at Floyd. Dave held up a hand as though to say _good day_ and Floyd just nodded in reply.

'The laptop.' Dave held up a bag now and again Floyd just nodded. 'Is Spencer at home?'

The fucking nosy bastard. Any excuse to come poking his nose in where it wasn't wanted. Floyd took a few steps forward. 'We just want to be left alone. Can you just put the laptop there and leave?'

'Spencer.' Rossi said, but lowered the laptop bag to the wooden boards of the porch Floyd had wanted so desperately.

'He's sleeping. Even through that howling babble of bells, he's sleeping.'

Rossi pointed at the front door. 'Can you wake him?'

Another couple of steps forwards. 'Dave, you don't mind me calling you Dave do you? Dave… As I explained and as I will carry on explaining until it sinks in, we wish to be left alone. This is harassment. We've done nothing wrong. If we had then I'd understand your need to keep checking up on us, but Spencer has issued no complaints about his treatment and Sam is playing in the back garden… or rear yard… whatever the fuck you want to call it. We are trying to come to terms with tragedy and loss. We need to be left alone. You can understand that surely? Being accused of crimes which are so vile that it makes even _my_ stomach turn in revolt isn't a nice way to spend a few days and now we are home…'

'I'd like to see Reid.' Rossi insisted. 'There were certain alarming images and video clips on that.' Rossi pointed now to the laptop.

Floyd's mouth hardened into a scar below his nose. 'Not best pleased that you found it necessary to pry into my private life… Spencer's private life. It's not illegal. Spencer isn't a child. He doesn't need your protection. He's quite able to complain if he wants. Go on in. The door's not locked. I believe he's in the lounge. Stick your damned nose in if that's what you feel you need to do. Check that I've not killed him and then you will apologise and get the hell out and not come back unless you have solid proof that I've done wrong.' Floyd paused as he crouched to pick up the laptop off the porch. 'How's Hotch doing?' He asked kindly as the front door was pushed open by Dave. Rossi turned to look at Floyd who was still hunkered down, now with the laptop resting on his knees.

'I'm sure that you don't need me to answer that.' Dave kindly snarled back at him.

'I'm just showing concern.' Floyd smiled and licked his lips.

'Your concern is noted. Don't expect me to forward it on to Hotchner.'

'Your attitude is noted. Fucktard. Go on… go see what you need to see then get the hell off my property.'

Floyd followed Dave into the house. He followed him into the lounge were Spencer was sprawled on the floor still clutching his spray bottle. His little snores were easy to hear. Floyd found the scene quite sweet. He loved to see Spencer all vulnerable and sleepy. To Floyd it just looked normal. Nothing to raise alarm here at all. Dave though didn't find it quite so endearing. At first, when he opened the door and walked in, he thought Spencer was dead, but as he moved in closer he too could hear the heavy sleepy breaths and the small wheezing moans of someone in a deep sleep. He removed the bottle of cleaner from Spencer's limp hand and stood looking at it for a while.

'Why is he sleeping there?' Dave turned to Floyd who had sat himself on the couch. A clock ticked loudly from out in the hallway.

'That's where he chose to sleep.' Floyd replied and put his hand out for the bottle. 'I'll take that shall I?'

Dave kept hold of the bottle though. 'He was cleaning? He was cleaning and he fell asleep?'

Floyd still couldn't see why this was wrong. Spencer slept in all sorts of odd places. Usually because he'd been beaten unconscious but not always; like now for example. 'He's been stressed. Lots of headaches and of course we cannot be permitted to forget that he was shot just over a week ago. Stress makes him sleepy. He was cleaning up some split coffee. No worries. It's not blood.'

Rossi wanted to believe Floyd. He really did, but it wasn't easy. 'Can you wake him?'

'No.' Floyd wasn't about to do that. He didn't want more questions which he felt were prying and unnecessary. 'He's obviously tired. He should sleep. I'm sure that you've been through our plans to go to the lakes for the season. It's going to be a long journey.' There was the matter that it would probably be impossible to awaken Spencer from the drug induced slumber on the lounge rug. 'So if you don't mind leaving.'

'I'll call.' Rossi sighed and walked towards the front door. 'I'm trying to believe that you're being honest.' Dave then turned and rubbed on his chin. 'Flanders, I would like at some point to interview you. Not as a suspect. Just to get inside your head and try to understand you. Would you be up for that?'

Floyd smirked at Dave. 'So you can build up a picture of evidence against me to use later? I don't think so Dave. I'm flattered that you'd find me interesting enough to want that though.'

'It would be…'

'Off the record? No… no, Dave. Nice idea, but I'd really have to be stupid or sick to agree to that. Contact me when I'm old and syphilitic – if you're still alive.' Floyd led Rossi out of the house and onto the porch. 'Thanks for bringing back the laptop. Did you print out any nice images you found? If I find any clips on a porn site I'll know how they got hold of them.' Floyd clapped Rossi on the back. 'Take care on the steps, old man, give Aaron and Derek my love.' He watched Rossi walk back down the path towards where he'd parked his car in the street. 'Oh, Dave! Emily! Tell Emily that she's forever in my mind!' Floyd gave Dave a small salute and backed into the house, slamming the door behind him.

It was now possible to show Sam what he had planned for them. He waited for Sam to come back in again, rather than going out to call him in. He stood though, at the kitchen window and watched Sam sitting on the grass with his back to the house. He was rocking slightly back and forth and Floyd thought he was probably crying. Why _were_ his boys so miserable? Wasn't he giving them everything someone could? Didn't they have a nice safe home… everything anyone would want. All they had to do was to ask and they would get. What was it Sam wanted… monogamy? Was that what he really expected? Floyd knew that Spencer didn't expect such stupidity. Sam would get used to it. The fact that Sam was still seemingly very opposed to it was dismissed. Floyd grabbed a can of lager out of the fridge and sat, bored out of his mind in the lounge, watching Spencer sleeping. He wondered how much he could do and Spencer stay sleeping and then he thought about petty jealous Sam sitting out on the grass. He carefully placed the half full can on Spencer's cute butt and walked out to give Sam some attention. This was hard work! Keeping both of them happy was almost impossible, but for now it was necessary. It was a challenge and Floyd wasn't about to give up on it yet.

Sam knew that Floyd was coming up behind him. He cringed slightly and wrapped his arms tighter around his shins. This was all going wrong. He just wanted Floyd to himself and now he was having to share with Spencer _and_ Az. He didn't like to share the small amount of love Floyd handed out when he felt like it. And he didn't know how to make it better. How to make himself be the most important one. How to make himself be loved by the monster who was now sitting in the grass next to him. Sam sucked on the teeth which he'd claimed he had control over and wished them away, but the sharp bastards stayed right where they were for now. 'What?' Sam hissed, trying to not show his teeth.

'Thought you might want some company.' Floyd draped an arm around Sam's shoulders. 'You know that if I didn't adore every bone in your sly little infested body, I'd get rid of you – don't you?'

'You adore me?'

'Why else would I have got Spencer out there ASAP to bring you home?' Floyd pulled the floppy miserable Sam closer. 'You just get on my tits so fucking much. Some things… you know? Spencer doesn't have to know. Some things, you don't have to know… and I'm sure that there are a whole bunch of things you aren't telling me either. That's fine. We can keep secrets. That doesn't mean there's no love or trust.'

Sam wanted to scrunch up and hold Floyd tight. He wanted to sit on his lap and rock back and forth. He wanted to meld, bond, be one with him and never let him go. 'I was so scared. Out there alone on the road. I did what I had to, but it was fucking horrible. I got slapped and raped and all sorts of shit and no one cared. I never want to feel like that again. I said that you craved Spencer, but I crave stuff other than drugs and dicks and cunt too. I need to feel loved and I just don't.' A low sobbing shuddering pathetic voice. A voice Floyd wanted to slap out of Sam.

'Well I'm here now, and I'm listening to you. This is me giving you my full attention. Nothing to disturb us. I've got the laptop back. I can show you all the great stuff I've got planned.'

Sam shook his head and sighed. 'You just don't get it do you? Spencer would never tell you cos he's either doped up or too frightened to say, but you're going to beat on me anyway so I might as well tell you. Floyd, when you make wonderful plans for things, you never think of anyone but yourself. I don't want to be in a small shit splat fucking village on the lakes. I want to be around fun. I want to be where there's life. I want to be able to go out whoring and stuff. I want…'

Floyd pulled Sam in tighter. 'You want my attention? I'll give you every bit of it. At the lakes. We can go fishing, hunting… do cool stuff. You wont need to whore to get the physical contact you need. I'll be there. Spencer… well actually no… forget that, but…' Floyd thought for a second and then gave Sam a gift. 'You can have Az. He's yours. Do with him what you will. Fuck him, talk to him, kill the fucker… There… if that's not a sign of love I don't know what is? And tomorrow or the day after we'll leave and go to the lakes. There's going to be stuff there for you to do. It's not totally remote. If you don't wanna go fishing, then don't. If you want to sit and masturbate all day, then you can. It's bonding time. We're going to have fun!'

Again Floyd had missed the point. It wasn't Az that Sam wanted. It wasn't even Spencer, not really… not when he really thought about it. It was an exclusive partnership with Floyd. An equal partnership. Sam sucked on his teeth again though. At least he could get Az out of the way. Then he'd work on Spencer.


	31. Chapter 31

31

The road trip!

Floyd was insanely excited about it. Spencer didn't seem to know what was going on and Sam had become a mope again.

For most of the three day drive, it was Floyd who was driving.

Six times! Six times they were pulled over by the flashing light of a cop car… or two… the last time four cars had been in attendance. Erratic driving in the extreme. Speeding. Driving with no lights, jumping lights, failing to report an accident. Spencer was sleeping through all of this, Sam was giggling and drooling – (Floyd thought Sam even barked at one point) – the cops let Floyd carry on each time with a warning to get some sleep at the next safe place. He was given locations of motels and Floyd protests that he didn't need to sleep got him no where. He was instructed and then escorted slowly to somewhere to rest. That was the second night and Floyd was high on happiness. He dragged Spencer to the room and watched Sam's tight arse walking in front of them. Life was good and from this point onwards it could surely only get better.

Sam got to drive the van a couple of times when Floyd thought no one would stop them. Sam was a far more cautious driver than Floyd and didn't try to take all the corners on two wheels. This was the reason Sam only got to drive a couple of times. He was taking too fucking long! They'd never arrive only driving at fifty all the way there! Roads were constructed with a smooth surface for the very purpose of speed. Why not take advantage of it.

Candice. That was the name of the village they finally stopped in. Floyd pulled up outside a shop in the one row of shops and rolled down the window and grinned. FLOSPESA was written over the door in big pink lettering. 'I chose the colour with you in mind.' Floyd patted Sam on the arm. Spencer woke up long enough to realise that the van had stopped and let out a small groan before falling back to sleep. 'Isn't it just wonderful?' Floyd asked Sam. 'You're going to love it here.'

'No, it's crap. Flospesa? What the fuck sort of name is that for somewhere? And yeah I like pink but…' Sam hated that particular shade, but he held back his words. 'Is that the first few letters from our names? I see I'm last again and only get my first two, but that's fucking typical of you. Where do we live? Please don't tell me that we're bunking down over the shop… please.'

'We are bunking down over the shop.' Floyd snapped at Sam. 'Get on out. I got everything sorted for us. If I've forgotten something then we can go into the bigger town…'

'Bigger town? What does _that_ mean? That they have advanced to the point of having flushing toilets and indoor plumbing. Fucking hell Floyd, what made you think we'd like it here?'

Spencer opened one eye and smiled. 'I like it. Thank you Floyd. It's lovely.' Then he slipped back into sleep again.

Here things were different. There was only one bedroom for a start. A large room almost taken up by a huge bed, which Spencer fell into almost before he'd seen it. There was a view out the back which looked over a beautiful twinkling lake. It was just like the pictures Floyd had shown them both. There were small boat houses and jetties along the bank and a few boats bobbing around on the lovely clear, clean water. The smell here was fabulous. No big trucks came down here. There was only two ways into this small enclave, one road… the way in was over a bridge which went over the railway, the way out was through a dingy not often used tunnel which went under the same railway line. There were trains which ran two a day in one direction and two a day in the other. Houses were scattered up in the woods and over the hills which rolled and climbed up towards the mountains in the distance. It was perfectly peaceful.

At least for now.

Sam stood staring over the water and let out a long bored sigh. He was going to hate it. He already hated it. He hated the name of the shop and he hated the pink writing. He wasn't too keen on what was being sold in the shop either. He'd been down there and had a look at the odd assortment of things ranging from bags of mystical dirt, boxes of salt, sharpened sticks, bones, scrolls and books. If that wasn't odd enough, Sam knew it was all total crap and fake.

'I'm going for a walk.' Sam moaned. 'There's got to be some life in this place and I'm going to find it.'

Floyd gave out warnings about upsetting people or starting fires… He told Sam that people in places like this didn't like having their cats skinned or their dog's tails set alight. He did, though give Sam a few bucks to put in his pocket. 'Find a shop that sells something you can buy. Ask about the fishing or something? Be _normal_ and keep your teeth hidden if you can't keep them just _gone_.'

Sam took the money and wondered if there were any cheap whores in this place. He didn't think five bucks was going to get him one. Even a cheap one would cost more than that. There was not enough money to get drugs either and it didn't look like the sort of place to have fast food readily available. Sam had seen on the way in, a small gas station. Maybe they had magazines or something. He snatched up a pack of smokes and an old lighter and made his way out for his first proper look at this hell hole he was being forced to be _nice_ in.

It was now time to rouse Spencer properly. Floyd wanted to show him around the shop before it opened the following day. The place had a pure, alive feel to it and he was sure that Spencer would love it here. And if he didn't, then Floyd would have to force him to love it here.

Spencer was still groggy and asked where they were and what was going on. He was prescribed a strong coffee and a small bowl of vanilla ice cream with chocolate sprinkles and strawberry sauce to revive him. As they walked around the odd shop which had shelves with small boxes and cabinets full of tiny drawers, Floyd explained what everything was. 'That a charm. Good luck thing.' Floyd took the small silver blob away from Spencer and replaced it in the drawer. 'If you break something you have to pay for it, and as I've purloin all your money, you'll have nothing to pay me back with… unless you want to hand over yourself and pay in kind?'

Spencer walked to the large glass topped cabinet in the middle of the small shop. 'You took my savings?' He asked as he bent over the display and had a closer look at the small bowls of _stuff_. 'That looks like a human skull.' Spencer sighed.

'I thought that as you'd been living off me for so long, being a kept man and all, that the money you had saved was actually mine, so yeah, I took it. I transferred it to my account. It's OK, because as I said, you're a kept man. And that looks like a human skull because it _is_ a human skull. I prepared it myself. Stripped it and polished it up real nice. Someone will want it.'

So, this was where the trouble was going to come from. Spencer felt the wave of panic hit him as he stood up and turned to look at Floyd. 'You know that I would have given you the money I had saved if you'd but asked. I don't like that you just assumed. And what do you mean that you _prepared _it? Where did it come from?'

Questions and bitching all ready. 'Do you want truth or something to make you feel happy?' Floyd asked… Spencer said he wanted truth and so that's what Spencer received. 'Sit… sit down.' He watched the man he professed to love walk slowly to a rickety wooden chair and lower himself into it almost as though he'd aged fifty years. 'Back home, about an hour bike ride from… well from home, is a small run down town. It was an old factory town, but the factories are closed and the people are moving out. Some remain of course. They're not a wholesome crew though. The homes are as broken as the people. It's a den of sin. That there skull came from there. I visited. I took… I took… I… I don't think you're going to approve but I wanted that skull. I could see as he walked down the road that his head was the perfect shape. He looked clean too. Not like the majority of that place. So yeah… I tore his head off his shoulders and took it with me. I soaked it in…'

Spencer stood up again and started to walk to the door leading out into the dead street. 'I don't want to hear more.' He muttered. Spencer felt sick. He was sure he was going to throw up and doing so on the bare wooden floors of the shop wasn't going to please Floyd. The door had a small bell which tinkled lovingly as Spencer opened it and walked onto the boarded slightly raised sidewalk. He threw up into an empty plant pot which stood under the window. A warm hand on the back of his neck made him jump.

'It's OK.' Floyd muttered to him. 'Really it is. No one will trace it back.'

'That's not the point.' Spencer said as he threw up the rest of the coffee and ice cream. 'You killed someone because you liked the shape of his skull? What's wrong with you? I thought after what happened with the angels that you'd stop this insanity. You can't just kill people.' Spencer was talking in a low hiss, still bent over the planter.

He didn't see the lost look which crossed Floyd's face. 'And why not? Why can't I? It was wasted on him. He'd have been dead of drugs or some kind of sexually transmitted disease before he got beyond puberty anyway. He wasn't even reported missing for three days.'

Maybe those were the wrong words Floyd had used. The wrong reasoning. 'You… that… you killed a kid?'

Again that lost look flooded Floyd's face. What the hell difference did it make if it was a kid or not? 'There was this kid once. A young fair haired little kid. He was a vile nasty little thing, but that's not the point. No one liked him.'

'Is this you we're talking about?'

'NO! No, I was never a kid… Spencer listen… the kid got stabbed. He was on life support for a long old time. A really long time. No one expected him to survive, but he did… yeah… he lived and he got better and there was much joy and celebration when he was allowed home. But remember that the kid was vile before and he just became more vile as he grew. He became a very violent rapist. He killed a lot of women. He did horrible things to them… you know? He fucked them. Eventually the cops caught up with him and he died after being shot in the head, but the point is that he should have died when he was a kid. That kid was damaged from the moment he left his mother's womb. He should have had his neck broken at that point. They should have turned off his life support.'

Spencer wiped at his mouth and stood up straight. He pressed his hands against the small of his back and stared Floyd in the eyes. 'That is an excuse to kill a child?'

'Spence! You see what I'm saying though? It doesn't matter if it's a kid or an adult. They're all the same. They all have the same ability to be a monster. I just took him out of the game earlier than he might have been taken. It's OK.'

'And did you do that to Jack?'

Oh now that was like a slap across the face for Floyd. And it _was_ a roundhouse punch to Spencer's jaw. He flailed back, tripped on the edge of the side walk and flew onto his back onto the hard road surface. 'You should have been aborted!' Floyd yelled at Spencer. 'You little bastard! You should never have been allowed to live! All of this shit would never have happened! It's your fucking fault! All of it!' A couple of people who had been exiting a store on the other side of the street stood like statues and watched. A kid who had been cycling past slowed down and looked at the scene over his shoulder. He didn't stop though. 'If you'd fucking died when your fathers' sperm met your mother's egg I'd be free! I'd not have been given you. I'd not have to look after you! You selfish fuck!'

Spencer was trying to get up off the road, rubbing his chin and the back of his head at the same time. 'Floyd… please.' He mumbled.

'Don't you _please_ me. Not after saying that! You shit!' Floyd now looked at the people staring at him from over the narrow street. 'And what the hell are you all looking at? Never seen two fags bitch slapping each other before?' He then walked back into the shop. The little bell tinkled, Floyd ripped it off the little hook it was hanging by and threw it out of the door and into the street. 'Get in the shop now!' Floyd roared at Spencer who did obediently walk back into the murky darkness of the shop. It wasn't the best start to their new peaceful life. Spencer went back and sat on the old chair and watched Floyd pace around that central cabinet. The floor creaked. The shadows were inky dark in the corners. The light in here was dim and the place suddenly had a smell of damp plaster and rotting paper. 'I'll tell you one more time that I didn't hurt Jack.' Floyd finally snapped. 'I didn't hurt him. Now I've told you and you've listened this time maybe. If it had been me wouldn't there be some evidence? Something small? Something you've seen and everyone else missed?'

'You mean like the latex gloves from my bag being missing? You mean like those old coveralls in the garage not being there any more. Like that roll of plastic in the back of the van suddenly disappearing? Is that the sort of thing you mean? I'm not accusing you again of that Jack business, because the thought that you could have done that to a small boy makes me feel sick. It makes me want to die trying to kill you. So I'm going to dismiss that, but you've been up to something. I know you have.'

Floyd stopped the pacing and stood the other side of the cabinet. He placed his finger tips on the top of the glass and glared in the gloom over at Spencer. 'Yes I did something naughty. Nothing terrible, just naughty. I broke into Morgan's place. I broke some stuff. I put laxatives in his sugar. Nothing fatal, but enough to have gotten in big trouble if I'd been caught. I wanted him staying away from you. I also needed to cover my tracks sufficiently so I wasn't caught. You know me Spencer. You know me too well. Do you really think I could have done that to Jack and gotten out without any blood on me?'

'You broke into Morgan's place? Why? Can't you write a letter like normal people do? Why can't you look at someone and admire them and not want to cut bits off them to keep? Why can't you look at the pale skin on a stranger and not want to make a doll or a new belt? Why can't you just try to be less… less… monstrous? I love you Floyd and this just breaks me more and more. I don't want to see you doing this stuff. I don't want to think that you're being this hideous creature. I want the old Floyd back.'

Now this confused Floyd completely. He moved around the cabinet, giving the pretty skull a quick look and he knelt on the floor in front of Spencer. 'I've always been like this, Spence. Always. It's just that you… it's just that… I trust you. I trust that I can tell you things and you'll not run from me screaming. I can't hide my nature from you any more. We are bonded. You see things which I'd maybe try to hide from you. I'm not the one who has changed. You are. You're mind is…'

'I'm not going crazy.' Spencer put a hand on Floyd's shoulder. Damnit! He couldn't help it! Whatever Floyd did he'd still love him. There was just no getting away from it. Was it the fear that he bedded with a monster? He wasn't sure.

'You're perfectly bonkers.' Floyd told Spencer. 'You've been losing your mind since you were about eight years old. I've watched it… I've monitored its slow decline. I was of the notion that you'd go over the edge when you met up with Tobias… you remember him? The guy you killed before he could kill you? That's ok is it?' Floyd pushed Spencer's hand off him, suddenly angry again. 'It's OK to shoot a man with an illness… and you know you would have been OK. You fucking freaked out and killed him. That's OK… _You're_ allowed to do it, but I'm not? Double standards… that's a sign of insanity.'

'It wasn't like that! And you know it!'

'I know that you were Jonesing for drugs. I know that you nicked drugs from a man you killed. That's low. That's fucking low. And you try to tell me that what I do is wrong?'

'I was… I was… I… I was sick!' Spencer stood. Suddenly he didn't want to be sitting in a wooden chair thinking of Tobias and sticking needles in his arm. He rubbed at his inner arm anyway.

'Yeah! Yes! You were sick! Should you have been shot too! Fucking junky! You killed a man when you were out of your head on drugs. How do you know – and I mean really know… that he would have killed you? How do you know that he wasn't just trying to scare you? Huh? Answer that? What words did he say as he lay there dying… just before you robbed him?'

Spencer didn't want to hear more. He turned and this time walked out of the back of the shop, through the store room full of unopened crates, through the rear exit and out into a small yard with bins and a gate leading out to the pathway down to the lake.

Sam was being followed. At first by one guy and then by a few more. They thought, at least Sam thought they thought, that Sam hadn't seen them, but he knew they were there. He could smell their smell. He could hear the creaking of their leather jackets. He could smell their curiosity. He managed to catch a couple of glimpses of them in shop windows. They were young. One of them had a bandana around his head. One had cut the sleeves out of his jacket. They thought they owned the small shit hole of a village and as far as Sam was concerned they could keep it and stuff it up their arses. He didn't stop at the small one pump garage, but kept on walking outwards down the side of the road, now going towards the outskirts where the bridge over the railway was. The woods closed in on the road as soon as the last shop. It was almost as though the trees had moved in closer to the edge of the road to try to stop him from leaving. He stopped and looked down a small dirt track between the trees. It wasn't the track he was interested in, or the way the wind sloughed through the trees making them sigh and leaves shimmer. He wanted to know if the guys following him would carry on once he was out of the village proper. Sam didn't love the woods as much as Floyd did and on their many adventures and because of that he hadn't taken the notice he should have when out with him, but that said, Sam wasn't afraid of the woods. At least during the day he wasn't afraid and there were a few hours yet. He turned and began to walk down the track.

'Hey!'

Ahh… there you go. Someone called out to him. Sam stopped about ten foot down the track and turned to look at the gang who had spread out across the dirt road. They were all older than Sam, but he didn't think that any of them were older than early twenties. The tallest and probably most muscled of the troop of five guys and one lass was cleaning his fingernails out with a knife which would have been very handy for skinning something. 'Hey.' Sam replied. He felt suddenly very conscious of their leather jackets and tough look and his own knee length skinny jeans and long sleeved mesh top.

'This is private property.' The guy with the knife informed Sam.

'There was nothing to say so.' Sam started to turn to carry on walking.

'Well I just told you it's private. I know. I live in this village.'

Again Sam turned back to look at the gang. 'I live in this village too now. Not that I wanted to come here and live. I'd much rather be somewhere where there was intelligent life, but no, I'm stuck here. So if you know where there's any night life or something even vaguely interesting other than trees, dirt and fucking water, then I'd be interested.'

They stood with postures which told Sam that they were curious but also ready for trouble, which amused Sam as he was half the size of most of them. Even the only female amongst them was probably nearly six foot tall. 'You need to go back and go home to your daddy.' Sam was told.

Sam took a step towards them. 'He's not my _daddy_!' Sam shouted at them. 'No one is my damned daddy! No one tells me what to do. Not you, not him… no one. Get that? If I want to walk down this road I'll fucking well walk down it. Your stupid kiddy knife doesn't scare me either so why don't you put it back in your pocket.' Sam took a step closer to them opened his dripping wet mouth and showed them his lovely teeth… again like he had done to Floyd, he let out a horrible squealing hiss. Five seconds later Sam was standing alone on the dirt track.


	32. Chapter 32

32

Floyd fell into a slight panic after Spencer stormed off. He'd hit him. He'd raised his hand to him _again_ when he shouldn't have. He was breaking the contract and he _knew_ he was, but staying his hand wasn't an easy thing to do. Floyd decided that he needed to go somewhere where the corruption was at its lowest and ask for… beg… hope that it hadn't been noticed. And if it had that they chose to ignore it. He couldn't lose Spencer now. He just couldn't. Floyd walked to the shop door with the purpose of walking down to the woods, but someone was standing there looking at him through the glass of the door. It wasn't Spencer and it wasn't Sam. A man in a dark suit… a black suit and a dog collar. A priest. Just what he needed. Maybe, actually exactly what he needed. Floyd opened the door and smiled. The two men stood looking at each other for a few seconds.

'Father Towner.' The priest put out his hand. 'I was hoping to speak to the owner.'

Floyd took the man's hand and shook it with some enthusiasm. 'Come on in.' He stepped back slightly and gestured into the shop. 'I don't think I have anything you'd be interested in, but come and browse. I'm the owner.' He gave the priest an encouraging smile. 'Flanders.' He added.

The priest did walk in and he sniffed up the musty air and he glanced at the small drawers of things against the wall. 'We are a christian community.' Father Towner, who was tall and pleasant looking, informed Floyd. 'I've heard that you advertised that you will be telling fortunes and selling items to…'

Floyd cut him off with a hand gesture. 'Forget all of this shit. It's just shit. It's business. I need to talk to you about something else. Something not connected to the shop. I have your confidence? You'll not speak of what I want to talk to you about?'

The priest looked surprised, but maybe happy too. 'Anything you say to me I will keep between myself and God.' The man said as he fingered the silver cross hanging around his neck. 'But I must tell you that if you are about to confess a crime…'

'No… nothing like that. Nothing. Not really. I just have a big shit load of questions I want to ask you. You see I've seen them and I've been there and I'm back, but I've broken one of the conditions.'

Towner raised an eyebrow. 'Conditions? Are you a criminal?'

'For the gods, no… nothing like that!' Floyd watched Father Towner walk around the small shop looking at the few things on display. 'Well maybe I am, but not in the way you're thinking. I was…' Floyd turned to the priest and frowned. 'I'm not sure how open to what I'm going to say you'll be.'

'You seem to be involved in the dark arts.' Towner commented.

'You cannot possibly be involved in the light if there is no dark. You surely have to recognise both to fully understand? How can you fill your being, your soul, with light and never ask questions about the dark? I am a guardian. Spencer is who I am guarding, but that was on the proviso that I didn't physically harm him in anger and I have done. I would like your thoughts on that. Do you have a direct line to God because I'm tired of having to go through a thousand Angels before I get contact. I'm tired of being manipulated. I'm tired of being ignored. Get me direct contact. You can do that? You are the voice of God, you can deliver him a message for me?'

Towner all ready had a frown on his face. Now it had deepened. He looked nervously around the shop and then folded his arms tightly around his chest. The nervous fluttering of fingers moving towards the cross around his neck didn't go un-noticed. 'You can talk to him yourself. You need to pray for forgiveness.' Towner started to make his way slowly towards the door. 'May I suggest that you visit the church? Come and join us for prayer?'

'But, will the contract be taken back? Will I lose Spencer?' Floyd walked towards the priest. He was talking fast and Floyd's face had taken on an almost panicked look.

'Contract?'

'The life contract!' Floyd exclaimed. He grabbed the priest by the upper arms and looked directly into his eyes. 'You must understand. If you have the ear of God you must understand.' The door of the shop flew open and Sam rushed in slamming the door behind him. He stared at Floyd and the priest, let out a howling hissing sound of pain and disgust and raced back out again. 'That was Sam.' Floyd let Towner know.

Towner looked at the rough hands holding onto his arms and slowly unfolded them and pulled away from Floyd. 'I think that you need someone other than a priest to talk to. I don't know what you are talking about.'

Floyd let the man go. He had no ear of God. He knew nothing. If he did he'd know. This man was as false as most of them were. 'You are false. You think you are leading the people to godliness, but if you don't have the ear of the big guy how can you know what you're doing is right?'

'The Good Book…'

'Fuck the good sodding book! It's bullshit and any person of any intelligence would realise that. I've been there. I know. I know how it works. I've seen them and talked to them.'

Towner was leaving. He was obviously trying to talk to a mad man. 'Who have you talked to?' He asked as he opened the door.

'The Angels.' Floyd virtually spat the word at Towner. 'There is a war… on the… they… the…' He paused and frowned. 'You think I'm mad don't you? You don't believe me.'

'I believe that is what you think you have seen. Maybe you… imagined it.' He was out of the door and the odd musty oppressive smell went. A shriek to his side showed Sam crouching down in front of the window.

'What's he doing here? What's that bitch doing in the shop?'

'Sam has... problems.' Floyd told Towner. 'I think you'll not see him in church.'

'I'd rather be fucked my a kitchen knife than go to church. And I'm not exaggerating. Really I would.' He scuttled back further from Towner. 'Your appearance hurts my… my… spirit. I would say my soul, but I don't have one.' He wanted to show the priest the teeth which had once again become sharp and dangerous, but decided that he didn't want holy water thrown on him today. He backed off further and made a small mewling sound.

It was enough for Towner. He'd seen and heard some pretty wild stuff in his time, but there was no mistaking the insanity shared between these two people. Thankfully rumour said that they were only here for the season. How much damage could two drugged crazed barbarians do in that time. In the meantime he would talk to the village counsel and see about having the shop closed. He didn't want fortune tellers and purveyors of mystical things being here. It encouraged the wrong sort of person to drop by. The very wrong sort of problem. As if he didn't have enough worries with that group of thugs who thought they owned the place! He walked away quickly, praying for his own soul and salvation under his breath and made his way down towards the lake. It was a great place to go in the late afternoon or early evening. It was quiet and he could find internal peace there. It was why people came to the lakes in the summer. It was that feeling of quiet peace.

Spencer sat by the edge of the lake. He watched the small boats bobbing back and forth. He rubbed at his jaw and closed his eyes and just took in the peace of the place. Floyd was right. It was a lovely place. It flowed calmness which seemed to seep into his soul and stop his heart from hammering with such brutal force. What Floyd had said had hurt. It had hurt far more than the smack on the jaw. He went over and over in his head the incident with Tobias. He now wondered if Floyd had been right. Spencer had been under the influence of drugs at the time. He hadn't been in this right mind. Under any other circumstance he was sure that he'd just have incapacitated the man and not killed him the way he had. He wouldn't have stolen from him… in front of his friends. He wouldn't have been the liar and the junky… He hadn't been in his right mind and he'd killed because of it. He wasn't able to condemn Floyd for anything… he was himself, no better. He squashed the heel of his hands against his eyes to stop the tears which he could feel building up. He'd cried over this enough. He wasn't going to let Floyd's harsh words start this ball rolling over again.

'A lovely view.' A voice next to Spencer said.

He looked up from where he was sitting and saw a priest. Spencer quickly got to his feet and straightened out his clothing. 'It is.' Spencer replied. 'It's a really beautiful place.'

The priest introduced himself and for a while the pair of them just stood and looked across the water. 'So you are here with Mr Flanders?' Towner enquired.

Spencer let out a long sigh. 'You've met him?'

Towner nodded. He looked sad or maybe, maybe it was not sadness but pity? 'He seems very confused. He spoke of seeing Angels.'

'Ah.' Spencer replied. 'The Angels.' He then turned to face the priest. 'They are not particularly a nice bunch.' Spencer smiled thinking of Floyd. 'No, some of them are really not very nice, but you know… most everyone who sees one will be afraid. They're not all of the fluffy wing and toga variety are they? They are God's warriors.'

This took the priest by surprise. He'd thought that the insanity had been contained just to Flanders, but it seemed that this mild talking young man was just as cracked. 'You have met Angels?' Towner took a step away from Spencer before the man could throw him in the lake.

'So have you.' Spencer looked up the side of the lake towards the shop. 'It was nice talking to you Father Towner, but I think I should return. He will be wondering where I've got to. He worries.'

'_He_ worries? I don't know what sort of mumbo jumbo you are up to, but I've met Flanders and I've been introduced to Sam… I don't think anything good is going to come of you being here. Not if you talk about seeing Angels… Do they come to you in your sleep?'

'No. I was taken…' Spencer stopped. It would sound insane and the man was already looking worried. 'Yes… I mean… maybe. A dream… A nightmare.'

It was obviously drugs. Towner decided that. It couldn't be anything else. And these strange people were not going to be welcomed by the villagers. 'If you ever need to talk.' Though he really hoped that they didn't. He was all for saving people and delivering the message, but this was trouble. Deep dark trouble and he wanted nothing to do with it.

Spencer didn't answer him. He gave a small nod which told Towner that this man would never come to him. It told him that Sunday was going to be spent in a drugged crazed slumber.

o-o-o

The evening. They'd had something to eat. Sam had sat mostly in silence, pushing his food around his plate. He felt that he should say something to Floyd about his teeth and the six people he'd displayed them to, but he didn't want to be thumped. He wanted to go out and find nightlife, but he didn't do that either. He wanted to stay here and keep an eye on Floyd or more, he wanted to keep and eye on Spencer… And he would like to shoot up. 'Is there anything?' He asked Floyd when he'd pushed his still full plate of nosh to the side. He didn't have to say what it was he really wanted. His wriggling and twitching was very obvious. Floyd though decided to be obtuse and tell Sam that he couldn't have dessert until he'd eaten all of his dinner.

There was food on nearly every surface of the very small cramped dining room. Sam let Spencer and Floyd know his fury. He displayed his teeth for them and screamed and hurled things and Spencer ducked and Floyd sat and allowed Sam to cover him in shepherd's pie, mashed spuds and peas. That was OK. Let Sam get it out of his system. Once Sam had calmed down and was sitting on the floor surrounded by the broken plates and the squashed up food, Floyd stood, pulled Spencer up with him and he gave Sam a look which made his flinch back slightly. 'You will clean up this mess. I don't want to see any sign of this shit in the morning. I don't want to see you display those teeth again. I warned you about that. I will remove them.'

'Fuck you.' Sam sniffed. 'I need something!'

'And you might have had something given to you if you'd behaved like an adult.' Floyd started to leave the room. 'When you grow up and start to learn how to behave then and only then will I deliver the goods.' The door slammed and Sam sat in amongst the debris with a growing anger. There was no way he was going to clean up this mess. Absolutely no way in hell was he going to. He knew that Floyd was going to take Spencer to that big bed and he knew he was going to have fun with him. Spencer actually seemed mostly awake tonight. He'd not fallen asleep in his dinner at any rate. So he sat and he waited and when he thought Floyd would be distracted by Spencer and Spencer would be distracted by Floyd he searched the room for drugs. He even went through Floyd's bag which was hanging on a hook next to Spencer messenger bag. And he found something. Not what he would have wanted most of all, but it was good enough. A crack pipe and something to smoke was better than nothing. He smiled as he slipped the goodies into his pocket and he slipped out of the back door. Screw them. Let them have fun. They weren't going to stop him having his fun.

It was strange. It wasn't what Spencer had expected. Floyd didn't lunge at him and tear his clothes off. He got Spencer to sit on the bed, still fully clothed and he knelt on the floor in front of him with his hands placed on Spencer's knees. 'I need to ask you for something.' Spencer grinned a wicked grin which only Floyd could get Spencer to do. 'Not that. Something else.' Floyd spoke quietly and slowly. 'I hit you.' He saw Spencer put a hand to the bump on his jaw. 'And I shouldn't have. I'm not going to take back what I said to you. I still sometimes feel that you're not a blessing… I thought originally that you were. I thought you were the best thing that ever happened to me, but no, no you're not. You are a curse, Spencer. People might say that I've in some cases manipulated you and coerced you… No… hush… let me speak… But no, it is you who have cursed me. Strange as that may sound.' Floyd looked up into Spencer's confused face. 'I used to be… I could… I didn't have restrictions on my actions and now I do. I shouldn't have hit you. I beg your forgiveness.'

'What?' The confused look on Spencer's face deepened. 'I don't understand.'

'Spencer… I'm sorry. Please forgive me. Please let me make it up to you.'

This was wrong. Very wrong. Floyd never said he was sorry. He never asked for forgiveness. It was just not right. 'Sorry? What? You're sorry? Since when has hitting me caused you to say sorry? What's going on? What's really going on here? Something happened when we were in The Bastion. You made some kind of deal. A deal not to hit me in anger?'

Floyd grimaced and nodded slowly. 'I had to. I was forced to. It was that or lose you. I can't lose you Spencer. I might hate you sometimes but I can't lose you. I just need your forgiveness.'

'And if I don't give it? If I don't want to forgive you for doing that? What will happen?'

There was a few long minutes of silence and then Floyd stood and walked to the window. He watched Sam walking out of the back gate and around to the front of the shop. He should go out after him, but it felt as though his perfect world was falling apart faster than he could shuffle it all back into place again.

'What will happen? Will they call you back? Will they punish you?'

Spencer watched Floyd shake his head. 'This _is_ the punishment. I can see that now. No, they wont call me back. They will…' He stopped. He couldn't tell Spencer the truth of the deal he had made. 'I need you to forgive me. I wont strike you in anger again.'

'And what if I want to be?' Spencer got off the bed and joined Floyd. He grabbed hold of his hand and squeezed it. 'You're forgiven. Completely forgiven. It doesn't matter.'

'I need your leave to be permitted to do it again.' Floyd muttered at the dark window.

'You need my permission to hit me?'

'Something like that.' Floyd squeezed Spencer's hand back. 'My world is falling apart Spencer. Falling apart so fucking fast I can't keep control of it. I used to be able to wander for months on end and not give a shit… I'd… I was… I was free. Now I am not. I made an error and I think it's going to be the end of me. Mistakes… usually I am more aware… less rash when it comes to eternal peace, but I shouldn't have bonded us. I should never have done that.'

'Wow.' Spencer didn't know what else to say. It felt as though his boyfriend and the man he loved… it felt as though he'd just been asked for a divorce. Floyd might have felt that things were falling apart for himself, but Spencer just felt the world being torn out from under his feet.


	33. Chapter 33

33

Spencer stared out of the window. He could see lights from homes on the other side of the lake and circling around it like a twinkly safe barrier. He felt his mouth filling with pre-puke water and his stomach heave into cramps. He couldn't survive without Floyd. He knew that much. It had been proven to him. He didn't move as Floyd stepped back and walked out of the room. He didn't move as he heard Floyd walk down the stairs and then the rear door slammed. He watched the shadowy form move through the yard and out of the back gate. He was still standing there staring over the lake when the water turned golden with a blush of blood over the peeks of the water as the morning arrived. If someone had returned to their cosy home on the water he didn't hear; his full attention was on what had happened since that time he walked alone into the woods and took the overdose. And he knew that he'd died that day, yet here he was standing looking at the lake Floyd had hopped would bring them peace.

He'd said he was sorry. Spencer knew that Floyd had meant it, but he wasn't totally sure what it was Floyd had really been sorry about. Was it the bonding – thinking of that caused his back to tingle even though the scar it self was gone – was it about something else? Was it a blanket apology for everything he'd ever done? Was it about – god forbid – Jack? Was it because he'd walked out and wasn't coming back again or was it just that he was sorry that he'd hit him… there was more to it if that latter thought was the correct answer. What had Floyd agreed to and why? What would have happened if he'd not accepted the apology? And there was the matter… that very simple matter that his man had said he'd wished they'd never bonded. That bond in Spencer's mind had been the twisted equivalent of a marriage.

Today the shop was meant to open. The shop which sold things no one would want to buy and offered things no one wanted to have. He saw no point in opening it. He didn't know what everything was anyway. What was he meant to say if someone asked what the bags of dirt were and why they cost so much money to buy when you could dig your own dirt for free? So Spencer locked the front of the shop up. He didn't turn over the sign which had OPEN facing inwards. He had a quick look to see if Sam had returned and no… Sam hadn't.

Were Floyd and Sam together somewhere? Curled up and secure and safe and loving each other. Spencer wanted to know if he'd been rejected and thrown aside for Sam. He wanted to know… really desperately wanted to know if shooting Tobias had been the right thing. He paced the small shop, his eyes locked onto the skull in the cabinet. His muscles ached, his head pounded… dampness covered his cheeks from tears he didn't even notice. He went three times and knelt in front of the toilet bowl and heaved and threw up until there really was nothing left to bring up. There was no one left to talk to. No one. He couldn't go to Hotch. He couldn't go to Morgan. Emily? Well Emily had never been one he fully trusted. He knew Floyd liked her for some reason… Garcia? She wouldn't have the answers he wanted. He would have spoken to Gideon if he knew where he was. He might even have spoken to Dave… but Dave hadn't been there. Dave only saw the aftermath. Dave wasn't the one to ask.

Spencer considered going outside and walking around the village, but for a reason he didn't understand and didn't want to understand, he didn't feel safe. He thought he'd feel too exposed. Too strange. He didn't have answers if anyone asked him questions and he didn't know if Floyd and Sam had been out there causing mayhem which he'd get blamed for.

Yet he desperately needed to know where Floyd was and he sort of wanted to know where Sam was. Were they together or were they in their own separate miseries somewhere. After two hours of pacing and thinking, Spencer decided that it was his bed he wanted. It just would have been so much nicer if Floyd or even Sam had been there too. He walked through the small wrecked and food splattered dining room and out to the kitchen and hallway where the bags were hanging. He removed from his own bag what he wanted… needed… so he could sleep and not have nightmares and he went to the bedroom alone. He swallowed two small pills, closed his eyes and feel straight into not the darkness and peace he'd been lusting, but a nightmare… or a vision… maybe?

o-o-o

Sam walked to the tunnel end of the town. It was only wide enough to let one car through at a time and it dipped slowly downwards into total darkness. That was fine. Sam didn't mind that in the least. He couldn't see light at the other end of it, because there was no light at the end of the tunnel. The ground was inches deep in filth. He could just about see enough at the entrance to tell him that the local kids came here to have fun. There was a dirty and rotting pair of shiny red panties which looked like they'd been there quite a few weeks. There were empty drink cans and smashed bottles. The tunnel had brick sides and had straight walls with a curved top… but nothing much taller than fifteen foot or so could ever come through here. Leaves had been blown inwards and as Sam clutched at the kit he had in his pocket he kicked through the debris to find somewhere safe to sit and calm his thumping heart. Though smoking crack was going to do anything _but_ calm his heart.

He was more absorbed in his own misery now than he had been earlier. This time he didn't know he'd been followed until a light suddenly tore through his comfortable groggy darkness and disturbed him just as he took his first hit of the drug.

'You just keep going where you're not wanted.' A voice called down the tunnel.

Sam ignored them. He would attack them if they tried to come closer.

'What you doing there?' That was a high pitched female voice.

Another long deep drag from the pipe made Sam's head swim for a second before the world began to fall into place around him. 'Why don't you fuck the hell off and leave me alone?' Sam said back.

'Because we want to know what you are and if your friends are the same.' This was the guy who had been cleaning his nails with the knife.

Sam didn't get up. He turned his head away from them and continued to enjoy what he was doing. Damn them for wrecking his fun. Damn them to hell and back… which wasn't nice. Sam knew. Sam was also damned to hell and back. 'I don't know what you're talking about, but you don't want to mess with me. You really don't want to. Now fuck off and leave me alone.'

'Can't.' Another voice. A small fat voice. 'Not until you tell us what you are. We've decided that you're either a werewolf or a vampire. And we're prepared to kill you.'

This was just so much _shit_! Sam slowly got to his feet, but the pipe was still in his hands. 'I'm not a werewolf and I'm not a vampire. You need to go back to discussions.'

'We're prepared.' The leader of the pack spoke. 'Silver knife and holy water.'

Sam nodded slowly and carried on smoking. The effects didn't take long. He was feeling like he could conquer the world and a few local thugs weren't going to upset Sam. 'The only preparation you'll need is a good helping of lube. Get out of my space. Leave me the hell alone! I've not hurt you. I've don't nothing.'

'You are an un-natural creature.' The tall muscled guy told him. 'And we are going to prove it.'

It was hard to see. The light was shining in Sam's direction and keeping the gang of accusers deep in the shadows of the tunnel, but Sam now was feeling like nothing could hurt him. He moved forwards towards them, still taking the occasional drag from the pipe. The world was becoming Sam's. Nothing could hurt him. Nothing. Not even Floyd and his nasty words and attitude. Definitely not these bullies. He was visualising the attack in his head. He was imagining how he was going to dispose of the remains. He was a god. 'You can't hurt me!' Sam howled at them. He threw the pipe to the side and drew back his lips to display his wonderful teeth.

He didn't get much further. They had said they were prepared and they'd not been kidding. They flattened Sam to the ground and were holding him down before he knew what had happened. Then there was the oddest feeling. At first Sam didn't know what it was. It was wet. They'd poured water over his face and it was in his eyes which were wide and almost glowing in the glow of the flashlight… then he realised it was pain. Horrendous blinding pain. The liquid was going up his nose, down his throat and it was in his eyes and it was burning like someone had just thrown acid on him. He thrashed and tried to kick and bite, but as his mouth snapped and spat and screamed, someone was actually brave enough to stuff something into that screeching maw. Sam didn't understand how this was happening. He should have been tearing them apart but they seem to have incapacitated him in under a minute… and that pain hadn't stopped either.

'Shut up and keep still.' Sam was told. Though his noise making had been stifled with a ball gag which was now strapped around his head.

'We have to take him to Towner. He'll know what to do.' One of the six said.

'I'll stab him in the heart.' Another voice said.

'I don't like this. I don't like this at all. He's got friends. They might be monsters too.'

They pushed Sam onto this front and dragged his hands behind his back and cold metal cuffs were snapped onto each wrist. 'Stop wriggling!' It was the female again. 'Or I'll kick your head in… freak.'

Floyd stood back. He watched. He hadn't followed Sam, but he'd followed this friendly little bunch of losers. The reason he followed them was because they stank… absolutely reeked of a mix of fear and trouble. They were up to something. They were up to something which they considered dangerous. It wasn't until Floyd reached the tunnel entrance that he got a whiff of Sam. He considered calling them back and telling them to leave Sam alone, but he didn't. He pulled back into the darkest of the shadows and stood watching. He heard the splashing of water and he heard Sam's screams… and he even took a step forwards to get him out of the trouble he'd walked into, but no… not now. It was either too early or too late… or maybe – and Floyd wondered this – maybe if they killed Sam it was a way out of some of the shit going on. He would be able to control things so much easier if there was only one to keep an eye on. He could relax with Spencer… 'Damn this.' Floyd groaned, but still didn't moved from where he was hiding. The sound of something hitting flesh didn't force Floyd out of hiding… The howls and mad whoops didn't haul him out either… the thing which finally did was Sam crying out for someone to help him.

Something inside of Floyd finally cracked. He stepped forwards, still mostly in darkness and he spoke. 'You've had your fun. Now leave.' He saw them turn. The light suddenly flowing in his direction.

'Ah… the daddy.' One of them laughed. A couple of them laughed… and then the laughter stopped when they actually realised that yes, they'd captured the little freak, but if this was the parent – then this was going to be a much bigger freak. The smell in the tunnel was so great that it almost made Floyd's eyes water. Fear, total unbound fear and excitement. 'You keep back or we'll slit the freaks throat!' The voice arrived at Floyd's ears and echoed back down the tunnel to Sam who made weird, muffled noise.

'Oh I'm keeping back. I don't want to cause trouble, but you are going to have to let him go and step back out of the way or something very nasty is going to happen and that will make me very sad, because I've not even had the chance to settle in here yet. I was hoping for at least a week before the trouble started… I'm happy to keep it that way, but if you don't stand back away from Sam you're going to feel my anger and that's something I don't think you're ready to feel.'

'Big words. You should keep your kid in tow. He's a beast. And we're going to take him to Father Towner and find out what he is. It's not the first vampire we've sorted. We're not scared.'

'Vampire.' Floyd repeated the word. 'You think he's a vampire? Oh… I see why you've pounced, but you're making mistake after mistake and too many mistakes eventually become fatal events. And I'm not a vampire either and I am not his father. So let us start over shall we? Let him go and this will end here. Nothing will be said about it and I wont have to visit your parents and tell them that I'm going to call the authorities. I would really rather not have to do that – Actually really I'd rather not have to do that!' Floyd found that his voice was rising in anger now. Anger at Sam having wandered off like he had. Anger at these kids threatening Sam… threatening him… threatening the peace. 'Sam get the fuck up and get the hell over here. Now.'

Sam would have, but someone had a foot on the back of his neck… and really the fact that Floyd hadn't killed them all ready was making him panic. Why hadn't he jumped in and killed them yet? What was wrong with him! He didn't get up. He moaned a bit though as the foot pressed down harder.

'What is he if he's not a vampire?' The girl asked Floyd. 'And what are you and who is that other guy and why are you here selling weird stuff… at least you _want_ to sell weird stuff? What are you?'

Floyd clenched his fists at his side and drew in a long deep breath. 'I am Isgar-Quenell. That's my official name and title. I am a guardian and you are threatening that which I am meant to be guarding, so you will step back from him and leave him alone or I am going to come down on you in my official capacity and show you what happens when you mess with things which don't concern you. Things which you should keep away from. I'll show you what happens when you mess with me. And I promise you that it'll be the last lesson you'll ever learn. And once learnt, I'm afraid it will be too late.'

'Witness protection?' Someone asked. 'Are you a Fed or something?'

Floyd wanted to laugh. He really wanted to let out a roar of a laugh. 'I'm not a Fed… no. And this isn't witness protection. This is far, far greater than that. So let Sam go.' Floyd smiled as the flashlights wobbled and flashed around the tunnel. 'Or I will kill you.'

'You'd not stand a chance!' Someone shouted. 'I'll snap his neck before you can even begin!'

'OK.' Floyd stopped smiling and placed a distant almost lost look on his face. 'That's up to you. You've been warned.'

Of course they never broke Sam's neck. They didn't get the chance. As soon as the blood began to fly and body parts started to get ripped away and tossed aside, Sam was forgotten. Sam though got up and with the gag still in his mouth and his hands bound behind his back he went deeper into the tunnel where the water had settled into deep stagnant puddles of slime and rats squeaked and darted out of the way. He ran and stumbled and felt hot wetness hit the back of his head… then just as suddenly as the noise started it stopped. He didn't turn though, he kept right on running, stumbling, bouncing off the walls and banging his head on unseen things. Dangling vines and creepers whipped across his face and his head and he was sure that something dark and dreadful was coming after him… He wanted to scream and couldn't. He could hardly breath any more as the panic was making his nose run and it was almost impossible to breathe through the thing which had been stuffed into his mouth.

When something touched his shoulder… something hard… he decided that the best thing to do was to fall on his knees and beg for mercy.

'You idiot.' Floyd hissed onto the back of Sam's neck. 'You're lucky you're not dead. You stupid fucking arsehole. All this shit because you had to have something to make you high. Now I'm going to assume that you didn't clean up the dining room, so you're going to assist me in clearing up this mess. I'm not going to keep covering for you, Sam. I can't constantly follow you and make sure that you're not going to get yourself in shit.' Floyd snapped off the gag, and clipped off the handcuffs. 'Get to work. I'll help, but you've got to start clearing up your own mess. Are you listening to me? There's going to have to be some changes made around here.' Floyd grabbed Sam's hand and led him back down the tunnel.

Some of the remains were used. Sam was hungry as he'd not eaten his dinner. Some was stuffed in pockets. Some was buried under debris and the rest was carried down to the lake. It was the last bit which took the longest. They worked in virtual silence. The incident had scared Sam and it had irritated Floyd beyond belief. He'd had to kill six local youngsters and they would go missing. They would have people who would report them missing and Floyd knew whose door the cops would knock on first. 'I just so frustrated, Sam.' Floyd said as he began to strip off his bloody clothing. 'Not sexually… well yes that too, but that's not what I meant. I'm tired of having to feel that I need to watch over you.'

Sam was also stripped and was now dropping down into the cold lake, dragging his clothing with him. 'You don't have to look after me.'

Floyd slipped naked into the water next to Sam and drew him close and tight. 'I do have to look after you. I _want_ to look after you, but you're becoming out of control. So I think that I'm going pay more attention to you and ask you what it is you want and I'll try to provide it for you, but I do need you to show restraint and I need you to be more in control. In return you can have this. I've given you Az. I don't know what else it is you need from me. I don't know why you have to…'

'I just want to be loved.'

'_I_ love you… am I not proving that right now?' Floyd thought that this watery fun was showing love. Surely it was.

'Then stay with me for the whole day. Forget Spencer for once and prove that it's me that you love. If you can do that one simple thing then I'll behave.'

Floyd thought it would come to a choice between the two of them. He looked up towards the small shop where Spencer was waiting for him. Sam seemed to think it was simple. It was far from that for Floyd. Sam was just the dog. Sam really was nothing in comparison. There was nothing to compare. Sam had been a stand by… just a bit of stuff on the side. He was never meant to take Spencer's place. Not even for a day.

'Sam… I… Really if I could have thought of a better way then I would have chosen it. I've tried. Really fucking tried, but I can't lose everything just because of you.' Floyd turned Sam around so he was facing him. 'I need to sort out Spencer. I have to sort out what's going on. He needs my one hundred percent attention. I don't have the time or energy to keep you happy. You're too much.' He kissed Sam on the top of the head then placed his hands there and pushed Sam under the water.

Sam struggled. He kicked and he tried to scream… but just filled his lungs with lake water.


	34. Chapter 34

34

In his dream something cold and wet touched him. Spencer's eyes shot open; a scream ready on his lips… to see Floyd standing next to the bed, dripping water onto the floor. Spencer wanted to ask where Floyd had been. He wanted to know what the hell was going on, but he kept silent and shivered as he watched Floyd peel the wet clothes off and toss them to the side of the room. He still said nothing when a cold wet Floyd slid under the covers with Spencer… face to face and wrapped his arms tightly around him. Saying that Floyd felt cold was not really the sensation Spencer was feeling. Floyd felt like a block of ice. Spencer wrapped arms and legs around him and shared the warmth of the bed. All the words said and the oddness was for a while forgotten. Something was very wrong, but no questions were asked… at least not yet. Floyd held on tight and for a horrible moment Spencer thought he was crying. It was an insane thought. Floyd wouldn't cry. Spencer waited until the odd shaking going on through Floyd from head to toe had stopped and then he needed to know things.

'What happened? That seemed to be a simple question and covered most of everything he needed answering.

Floyd shuddered in his arms and rubbed a cold foot over Spencer's leg. 'I made a mistake.' Floyd muttered. Spencer could feel his hot breath over his chest where Floyd now had his head rested. His hair smelt odd. It smelt of dirt and river water. Spencer assumed it had come from the lake.

'Everyone makes mistakes. It's OK. I said I forgive you.' Spencer wound his fingers around Floyd's dirty wet hair. 'Did you fall in the lake or something?'

'It was the only thing I could think of doing at the time. I didn't think it through properly. It is a perfectly ridiculous concept to even consider that I did it for you. I didn't. I did it entirely for myself. I didn't consider… I didn't look at the greater picture. I saw something nice and I wanted it. I wanted it forever… and I didn't want to share it. It's like that perfect glass of wine, but what's the point in having it if you can't have a smoke with it too? What use is it if you can only look and imagine the taste? There's no point is there? I might as well just have a photograph of it… leaving it sitting there will cause it to spoil.'

Spencer wasn't following him. He had trouble enough trying to get his head around some of the things Floyd said, but this was just not making any sense at all. He was comparing something to a glass of fine wine… Spencer didn't know what that thing was though. 'You're going to have to tell me without the use of metaphors.'

And Floyd giggled. Spencer felt the shaking of Floyd's shoulders as he laughed and then kissed him on the chest. 'It's why I adore you so much Spencer. It's why… It's just why.' It didn't look as though he was going to explain though.

'Please tell me what you mean. What happened? Tell me what the deal was.'

'I'm hoping that what I've done will somewhat balance things again. That is what the problem has been. The balance was off kilter. Everything was just so wrong… yet…' Floyd ran a tongue over Spencer's left nipple as he thought how to word this properly. '… yet it was also so perfect. They're not going to let me rest though… they're going to throw things in my way and try to trip me… Nothing lasts forever, Spencer… even the greatest objects in the world fade and lose their glamour. I might not want to accept that, but that's how shit is. I've got you though. That's all that matters in the end. I've got the most beautiful treasure of all, so I've won I guess. I just… I should have been more cautious because I can only hide my nature for so long and when the cracks start to appear then I'm going to take it out on someone.'

'Me.' Spencer sighed.

'You… no… not you. You know I'd never hurt you. Not on purpose. Not… ever in anger… I'd only beat you because I love you. I just hope that they see that and don't… and… shit. Spencer… a moral question for you. If the white hats offered you something which came with a high price, a price you didn't think you could afford or be able to keep up the payments and actually the deal wasn't that hot in the first place… yet the black hats offered you much the same thing virtually for free… if those black hats offered you sanctuary and the white hats started to hunt you down for failure to make your payments… Would you… as Spencer… as who you are and for what you yourself stand for… would you go and seek refuge in the dark?'

Spencer raised an eyebrow at this question. 'I would approach the white hats and try to see if I could make lower payments. I would ask for time to pay. I would attempt to get a better deal. If that still didn't work and if they were threatening me…' Spencer gave a small shrug, '…then I'd go to you… Are you a white hat or a black hat? I don't know any more.'

'Black… all the way through to my heart and soul. I thought for a while that there was redemption, but that's the thing with them. They don't forgive. They use people. They use them to do what they don't want to do themselves and what gratitude do you get? Some lame half arsed deal which when you look at it closely isn't worth the shit it's been written with. What it boils down to Spencer is that The Angels gave you to me as payment for what I did for them. But I've been given restrictions. Whether these are to try to tame me or if they're to piss me off, I don't know, but I feel that they should have asked your opinion on the matter first. Oh… and on a side note… I've drowned Sam.'

Spencer now pulled away from Floyd and sat up in the huge bed with the dark red coverings. 'You did what?'

So Floyd rattled off a few lies. He couldn't and wouldn't tell Spencer that he'd slaughtered a bunch of hoodlums who were going to kill Sam for being a vampire. He thought that was best left – at least for now. He spoke about what happened in a dreamy voice, almost as though he was recalling something marvellous and wondrous. 'We went to the lake. We talked about things, nothing of importance. I told him that I couldn't give him my full attention and that's what he wanted. We washed in the lake. It was cold. So cold… but I knew as soon as we stepped into the water what had to be done. I need _you_… I can't have distractions from you and I was thinking of you when he fought against it and struggled. I want to fill my day with you and just you and Sam wasn't having any of it. So yeah… I drowned him… He sank like a rock. I'm sure he'll rot quickly. They'll be nothing to be found. He's gone. But he'll be happy. He will go back to _Them_ and Az is there. He can spend his days torturing Az and screwing him… he'll have fun… but I just…'

Spencer picked up a pillow and hurled it across the room. It made a very unsatisfying, soft _fwup_ as it hit the wall and slid to the floor. 'Don't even start! Don't you tell me that you killed Sam! I'll not listen to any more of your madness! What the hell is _wrong_ with you? I never asked you to kill Sam! Don't make me feel guilt over that on top of everything else you've been throwing at me! You… you… you…'

'Me.' Floyd admitted. 'I'm a greedy motherfucker, but I also know if I like sugar or cocaine best. I just flushed away the sugar. I've kept my cocaine. You will have my undivided attention. Nothing will get in the way. I did it for you.'

'NO!' Spencer moved off the bed and looked around the room for something else to throw, maybe this time at Floyd. 'I don't want you killing anyone for me! I don't want you to! You killed Sam? Really? You really did that?' Spencer could feel his voice wobbling with distress. Why he was so distressed he wasn't sure. They could get Sam back. He could make Floyd go and get him. 'Please tell me that you're kidding with me, screwing with my head… trying to make me crack.'

Well, Spencer always was an ungrateful bitch and he was just proving it all over again. Floyd didn't understand this attitude. Why was Spencer so angry? He decided to take things back a bit and give Spencer some reminders. 'Sam killed you once. He shot you.'

'Oh! Oh! What? NO! I'm… for my life… Floyd. NO!' Spencer snatched up a pair of boxer shorts, jumped into them with a nimbleness Floyd had never noticed before and was out of the room in a flash. The door slammed and rattled the mirror on the old oak dressing table and then Floyd heard Spencer thumping down the stairs. He wondered if Spencer was going to open the shop up… if he'd stand there with his superior morals and serve people wearing just his boxers. For now Floyd curled up in the warmth of the bed clothes and inhaled the scent Spencer had left behind for him and he smiled. Things were going to work out. At last he'd taken all steps needed to be able to just give Spencer his attention. Jack was gone, Sam was gone (for now) and they had a fun little shop to run. Questions might be asked as to the whereabouts of Sam, but Sam was a regular little shit and ran away often. That's not going to shock anyone.

'For the gods – I love this bed.' Floyd snuggled deeper. No guilt. Not really any memory of what he'd done the previous night. He'd feasted well. Had his last meal with Sam… it had been good really. A nice way to end things. Now that he was warm again and settled and comfortable and now that he'd solved what he considered to be the main problems, he actually felt tired, knackered… but nope… can't sleep… Sleep would send him to where Sam was. And Sam was going to be pissed. Sam would try to make him feel bad about what he'd done… and Sam had an annoying way of getting under Floyd's skin. Sam was doing it right now without even having to be there to see or speak to him. Floyd waited to see if Spencer would come back to him and when he didn't, Floyd went looking for him and found him clearing up in the cramped and dirty dining room. Floyd had told Sam to do this and he wasn't best happy to see that Spencer was doing the clearing. 'Sam's meant to do this.' He muttered as he stood in the doorway, arms crossed tightly over his bare chest.

Spencer looked up from where he'd been kneeling. 'Floyd, if what you said was true, then Sam's not going to be clearing the mess.'

'Then leave it. Close the door and leave it. I don't like to see you cleaning… not cleaning up Sam's filth.'

'You want to leave the room covered in food?' Spencer now stood. 'When did you last have a good drink? Is there a bar in the village? Why don't you go out and have a drink and meet the locals and remember I said _meet_ the locals and not eat them.'

Floyd smiled a wan smile and placed a hand on his stomach. 'Babes, I'm still full, but I think I might take your advice.'

'Can you take some secondary advice? Go put some clothes on before you go out in public.'

Spencer was about to get back down and clean when Floyd spoke to him again. 'Come with me… for a drink. You're not my housekeeper. Leave the mess. I mean it. I'll sort it out later, or we can sort it together, but I fancy taking you out on a date.'

'A date?' Spencer gave Floyd a grin. 'A real date?'

'So go get some clothes on huh? I want everyone to know that you're mine. I want to show you off.' He needed everyone to know that Spencer was out of bounds. He wasn't available. Spencer was his and he'd would… and had… kill to make sure it stayed that way.

'It feels disrespectful.' Spencer sighed. 'You've murdered…'

'Spencer! If you're going to get all fucking maudlin because I topped Sam then I'll go alone. I don't want some moping dishrag on my arm. He's fine. He'll be with Az.'

'I'll come with you, maybe have…' Spencer stopped and shook his head. 'You really drowned him?'

'It was a nice moment, Spence. It was nice. I… I didn't hurt him. I'm going to have a shower and get ready. I stink of ditch water. We will relax today and open the shop tomorrow. Come on Babes, don't be a killjoy. I've done all of this for you. For your health… for your sanity. No more bitching. No more fighting. Just you and me and nothing to get in the way.'

Floyd turned and walked out. Spencer heard him walk back upstairs and the heard the bathroom door close, but Spencer didn't move. He suddenly felt as though his feet had been encased in concrete. He thought about how scared Sam would have been as Floyd pushed his head under the water. He could imagine the look of terror on Sam's face. Sam had a very good _terrified_ face. Did Floyd really believe that he'd not hurt him? Did he think it was fine to kill someone as long as it didn't hurt and was quick? Then he started to think of Jack… Had Floyd denied killing Jack or had he just insisted that he'd not hurt him? Spencer thought so. He hadn't lied as such… he'd just twisted things. And now he was alone with Floyd and would he or could he question him again on the Jack thing? No… no he couldn't. How long Spencer stood there going over and over conversations he'd had with Floyd in his head, he didn't know. But he was still standing there when Floyd reappeared all clean and ready to hit the town.

'Spencer?' Floyd walked back into the room and Spencer wanted to jump into his arms and hold him and smell that wonderful smell… and he wanted to beat him and tear at his face and scream at him… 'Spencer?' Floyd repeated. 'What's wrong?'

'Wrong? Why would anything be wrong?'

'You just look like you've seen a ghost. Are you feeling OK?' Actual concern in Floyd's voice. How sweet. How thoughtful.

Spencer backed slightly away from him as Floyd reached out to take his hand. 'I'm going to ask you one last time and I need an honest answer. Did you kill Jack.'

It was there, and Spencer saw it. A flash of annoyance. 'I told you! I didn't hurt him!'

'But, Floyd… that's not what I asked. Did you kill Jack? I don't care if it hurt him or not. I want to know if you killed him then tore his body apart and left the mess for Hotch to find. Did you do that?'

'You are so fucking melodramatic! A fucking typical drama fucking queen!' Floyd didn't try to touch Spencer again though. He stood back and watched Spencer pick up an eating fork off the table.

'Did you kill Jack?'

Floyd nodded slowly. 'Yeah… I did. Now will you put that thing down and go get ready to go out.'

'Why? Why did you do that? How could you have done that?' Tears were now flooding out of Spencer's eyes. 'He was a defenceless little boy! He had never hurt anyone or anything in his life. I don't understand you! I don't even know you! Why! Tell me why!' He held the fork in a defensive manner in his hand. If Floyd pounced he intended to get at least one good forking in.

'I thought I'd explained. I thought I'd gone over all of this… I shall explain better for you, but only if you say you'll come with me for a drink afterwards and only if you put that fork down.' Floyd watched Spencer nod slowly. He saw the fork fall to the floor.

'Tell me. Explain the reason why you would kill a child.'

Floyd firstly pulled a cheroot out of his pocket. It was one of his special herbal ones. One which gave his head a buzz and stopped the headaches, because he sure as hell had a headache coming on now. 'I had orders.'

'You had orders? What orders? What does that mean? _They_ gave you orders to kill Jack?'

'It's all terribly complex. The white hats tried to… but.' Floyd stopped and shook his head. 'I don't even know where to begin, Spencer. I don't know how far back to tell everything.'

'How about the day you broke into Hotch's house and killed his only child. How about you start there and your reasons had best be very good ones. Actually they'd better be miraculous because I can't figure out one reason why that is an OK thing to do.'

'I'm on contract to _Them_. You know that. You know it's not something I really want, but sometimes they give me things to do and those things are not always very nice. I could turn them down, but the price is too high, which is why I should never have bonded with you. They know where my weakness is and for the longest of times I fooled them… I didn't let them see it, but they now know. I made too many pleas… begged them too much. Crawled on my fucking belly to _Them_ to make sure I could keep you in my life. So… they told me to do something… and I started it! I started it in the same way I drove myself into your life… I was grooming him, Spencer. I was going to have that kid… not yet, obviously not yet, but those black hats they wanted Hotch destroyed. What better way than to have Jack fall into the arms of the man who killed you and… well… you see? I couldn't have that happen. So I took a step back and thought on it. How to extend your contract. How to ensure that there was nothing waiting when you die… I eliminated him.' Floyd puffed deeply on his smoke. 'I did it because I can't bare the idea of losing you. I'll always need you. Even when you're old and infirm and dribbling and shitting yourself… I'll always need you. I had to do it. Can you see now?'

'You just admitted that you groomed me.' Spencer muttered. 'You killed Jack because you didn't want him around when I'm dead? How long do I have to live then? Do you know? And it doesn't make what you did right! You can't kill a child just because…'

'I was going to baptise him when he was fourteen. I was going to really initiate things when he was sixteen. I'd not touched him. I need you to know that. I'd never touched that child. I'd spoken to him. I'd introduced myself to him and sent him gifts. The rest was going to wait.'

'Wait until I was dead… when Jack was fourteen? So I have what? Eight years?'

Floyd's eyes narrowed. 'No… I didn't say that.'

'You said!' And now Spencer was walking towards Floyd and now his finger was prodding Floyd in the chest. 'You said! You said that Jack was for when I was dead! Then… then…'

'Complex.' Floyd muttered and looked down at the prodding finger. 'You're going to dent my chest if you keep doing that. I did it to save Jack the pain of what was going to happen to him later. I took him out of the picture. He was a threat. A very big threat to our continual happiness. I couldn't do what I was asked to do. It's fine. Really. He wouldn't have lived beyond eighteen anyway. He would have died young. A drug overdose, alone on a bench in Central Park and it would have hurt. He would have had years of hurt from his father and from me. I honestly didn't hurt him Spencer. I killed real quick. He didn't even know I was in the house. He didn't know it had happened. I broke his neck. Once you are dead your body is an empty shell. It's nothing. Nothing important. So I used him to cause Hotch the greatest pain I could give. Worse than going after Hotch personally. Doing what I did will lead Aaron to alcohol and death. It's good! It's all good. I did it for you. I did it all for you and for me.'

'You animal.' Spencer prodded again. 'Never ever tell me that you killed someone for me. I don't want people to die for me! I'd rather have been dead myself than have that happen to a child in my name! Why did you think that was OK? And you knew eventually that I'd know it was you. What made you think that I'd want to be anywhere _near_ you when I found out.'

'You're such a self righteous prick sometimes. Didn't you hear what I said? I'd have raped that boy when he was fourteen. I would have taken him for my own when he was sixteen… in my grief… in my fucking terminal grief at losing the only thing I've ever really fought for. I can't lose you! I can't. I'd do anything to make sure I have you at my side eternally.'

'And if I don't want to be?'

'Then I will kill you, skin you, and wear you. That is true love.'

Spencer didn't know whether to scream or laugh. He didn't know if Floyd meant that… he let out a small moaning sound though. He had a good idea that Floyd meant every word of it and he was equally sure that Floyd saw nothing wrong with it. 'So, if what you have just told me disgusts me and revolts me to the point that I want nothing to do with you, you'll kill me?'

'I would… I would if I had to. But I'm hoping it wont come to that. I'm being careful. Eliminating the things getting in the way and once they are eliminated the next thing which comes along I'll be able to bargain with make a deal… barter. Now please go and get changed and have a shave. You look dirty.'


	35. Chapter 35

35

It was mid afternoon by the time Floyd had managed to get Spencer dressed and slightly coherent. He was sure that the damage to his nose and mouth would not show too much in the slightly flat light. Floyd had hit him. Spencer was just the most stubborn thing alive sometimes. He had refused to take the powders Floyd had offered when they were just about to leave for their relaxing drink. Spencer had made all sorts of wild accusations see-sawing between fears that Floyd was poisoning him to telling Floyd that just because something didn't hurt didn't mean it wasn't wrong. Spencer voiced his opinion until Floyd put him right, held him down and forced the magical mixture into Spencer's mouth. Yes he'd split his lip and yes Spencer had a nose bleed, but he couldn't take his boy out in public if there was a risk that Spencer would drink too much and start talking about things he really shouldn't. Floyd even shaved Spencer because his sudden claim that he was going to grow a beard wasn't what Floyd wanted. He liked his boys the way he liked them. The shaving wasn't applied solely to Spencer's face and his shouts and attempts (though already weakened by the drug) died down and he lay very still but making strange mewling sounds as Floyd treated Spencer to a lovely clean shave, courtesy of his knife. Floyd told Spencer that next time he complained about his attempts to ensure that Spencer was kept clean, he'd circumcise him with a pair of nail scissors. Floyd then took nearly an hour to go through all of the diseases and infections you can carry by not keeping clean. All of the advice in the world didn't seem to apply to Floyd himself though. The matter that he'd had a shower and didn't smell of ditch water was obviously to cover up the fact that he'd been in the lake the day before. Floyd's hair fairly glowed it was so shiny. His face glowed with contentment. The whole discussion about Sam and Jack had been removed from his mind, or at least shoved with brutal force to the back of it… where it would be filed and used in evidence against Spencer next time the bitch complained about something.

The end result was a beautiful clean man. A man with wavy brown hair which was at collar length. His eyes were dull, and his expression maybe a bit dim, but Floyd knew that underneath that simple face was a beauty which only he knew about. Floyd made Spencer put on a pair of tight jeans, which though Spencer muttered a small complaint about feeling like a fool, he wore and actually looked totally fabulous. At least Floyd thought he looked totally fabulous and as no one else had better look at him in any way beyond very mild curiosity didn't matter. This was in Floyd's eyes a statement.

'You look great.' Floyd stroked the side of Spencer's face with his fingers. 'Now if you could just stop dribbling it would be even better. You look like you have brain damage. Buck up bucko! It's time to go show ourselves.' Floyd sniffed and wiped away the tickling in his nose. He'd taken something earlier and now it was wearing off, but it was such _good_ stuff! And legal stuff! He thought about going out in the morning and collecting bits and herbs and preparing some to sell. He'd become the backwoods drugs baron. He gave Spencer a kiss on the nose and after making sure he had his wallet and that Spencer had tucked his short sleeved slightly tight green and white shirt in, they were ready to go. 'Don't drink too much.' Floyd warned Spencer as they walked out into the afternoon light. 'Don't talk to anyone. Don't accept drinks.'

'M… I'm… er…' And that was all Spencer managed to say on the subject. He wanted to say more! He had so much to say, from the clothes he'd been forced to wear to the orders he'd been given on how to behave in public. He wanted to tell Floyd to back off and let him alone. He wanted to crawl back into his bed and hope he woke up and this was all a nightmare. He wanted to get high and drunk in private and read a book – or even have that wonderful pleasure of being read to! But today Spencer just walked along beside Floyd trying to get words which were in his head to make it as far as his mouth… and he had to keep a close eye on where he was walking. Everything was so strange! The colours were odd, like a bad painting, the sounds were sometimes muffled and indistinct and the next second so loud that the wanted to put his hands over his ears. Floyd had told him that this was the same stuff he took! Well if that was so, no wonder the man went off on murderous rampages. How could anyone know what they were doing when their mind was so muddled?

'Hey.' Floyd was gripping his arm. 'Careful lover. You were nearly on your face then.'

'Ah…' And again that was all he managed to say.

Now Floyd wondered if he'd over done the doping – but it was called dope for a good reason he guessed. Spencer was a very good advert about the damage drugs can do to you. This brilliant mind was dulled almost to the point of extinction. A bit of alcohol and later on a good lot of happy sex would sort that out. In the meantime he was going to keep a close tight hold on his boy. 'I will need to report Sam missing, but as a renowned runaway, I don't think that much will be done about it. I don't think we'll have a problem.'

'We?' Spencer managed to hiss out between teeth which suddenly felt odd and wobbly.

'Obviously. You know what I did and you know what happened to him, so really you're an accessory to murder, so we keep our mouths shut and all will be OK, but if I don't report him missing someone might wonder why. He is after all my ward. I am legally responsible for what he does and I don't want him getting into a life of crime and then getting blamed.'

Floyd was talking as though the business with Sam hadn't happened. He was talking as though Sam really had run off and Spencer listened to the story Floyd was telling him and wondering if in actuality Sam _had_ run off? It seemed like a far better option. He'd much rather that then have to keep thinking that Sam was rotting at the bottom of the lake.

'I'm going to pierce your knob.' Floyd then informed Spencer.

'What? You what?'

'I thought it would look nice with a lovely big golden stud in it. I've not got one though, so it'll have to wait, but it's a nice thought. It'd please me. You want to please me don't you?'

'I want to please you.' Spencer told Floyd. He wanted to give statistics of infection rates when piercing various body parts, but the numbers were hidden behind a fuzzy barrier in his head. 'But I…'

'I'll sort it!' Floyd grabbed at Spencer's hand and gave it a squeeze. 'Things from now on are going to be wonderful.' The little squeeze turned into a crushing hold.

'Wonderful.' Spencer told Floyd and the death grip softened slightly.

The bar was nothing special. It was more of a very large hut than a real building, but there was a juke box and a dart's board… things hanging on the wall and a fireplace which Floyd assumed would be lit in the winter months. The bar was three straight sides forming a square at the back of the room. There were tables scattered and… well that was about all. A few people sat around, but really it was too early for the night time drinkers to be here. It was time which Floyd could rest his butt on a bar stool and have a smoke and whiskey and have his best boy at his side. CCR was playing on the box… Bad Moon Rising… Floyd let out a soft sigh of something which might have been either disgust or love. Both were pretty close in Floyd's head most of the time. He ordered a whiskey for himself and Spencer and leaned on the bar with his elbows after helping himself to some peanuts from the little glass bowl.

'Do you know how many germs are found on one peanut which has been left open on a bar?' Spencer was talking to Floyd but looking at his own reflection in the big engraved mirror at the back of the bar.

'I'm sure you're going to tell me, but if it's any less that what is found on an arse of a cock, then I'm really not interested.'

Spencer didn't give the facts. He really wasn't sure that he knew them… they were with everything else of any use, stuffed away in cotton wool in the back of his head. 'It's not…' He said no more… Floyd stuffed a peanut into Spencer's mouth.

'Stop bitching like an old woman. Relax and enjoy yourself. Game of darts? No… maybe not. I don't choose tonight to die. Enjoy the drink and stop worrying.'

A huddle of middle aged men were in the corner, Floyd and Spencer were about to move to a table and have a game of cards and take in the vibes of this (boring) wonderful (lifeless) buzzing place… but as the barkeep topped up their glasses, Floyd nodded over at the corner. 'A meeting of some kind? Looks kinda serious.'

The barkeep glanced at the men and then back to Floyd. 'Their kids didn't come home last night, but the cops aint interested. They're too old and ugly to be classed as missing for another full day.'

'Kids? How many kids?' Floyd looked again over at the table of men.

'Six. But as I said they're all old enough and ugly enough to be able to look after themselves. The folks worry though.'

'My boy didn't come home last night either.' Floyd informed the barkeep. 'I wasn't worried as he's a serial runaway, but…' He swung around on the stool and looked in the direction of the men whose kids he'd murdered the previous night. He felt Spencer's hand fluttering on his shoulder and fingers running down his back.

'Floyd.' He managed to hiss out. 'Floyd!' This time a bit louder as Floyd began to stand up. 'Don't… leave them be. Leave it. It's not connected. Sam's… Sam… well…'

Floyd slid off the stool now and clapped a hand on Spencer's shoulder. 'Either go sit in the corner and play cards… alone, or stay right where you are. I'm just going to have a word with these folks. Maybe there know where Sam might have gone, if he was with their kids last night.'

The word 'Floyd!' was this time accompanied by a kick. 'He wasn't.'

Spencer looked into Floyd's slightly distressed looking face. What he said made no sense and then at the same time made too much sense. So much that Spencer wanted to hurl up on the floor of the bar. 'You don't know that.' Floyd said to him. His voice a low husky hiss. 'I'm going to talk to them. Just stay here.'

Now Spencer grabbed Floyd's arm. 'I'm telling you that it'll only cause problems. Leave them. Sam wouldn't have been with anyone. Sam is a loner. He's probably…' What was going on? The game of Sam being missing seemed to have captured Spencer's mind. '…he's probably off getting high… or earning some cash.' _Or rotting at the bottom of the lake maybe?_

o-o-o

Floyd had said that Sam would go and have fun with Az. That was what Floyd thought was going to happen, but so much changes when in the blink of an eye that the normal person wouldn't be able to process it. Sam was sucked out of the bottom of the world… Floyd was right in one respect, no one would find his body. He wasn't in the lake any more than he was lounging and having fun with Az. He opened his eyes, cold and shivering and looked up at strip lighting which was speckled in fly dirt. The light flickered – flickered – buzzed and flickered. At first that was all Sam could take in. He wasn't in the lake. He wasn't where he would normally go. He definitely wasn't with Az… The ceiling was cracked and yellowing with damp patches and mould flowering in the corners and on the wall the other side of the room to him. There was a bed there too and someone was sitting on that bed and that someone was screaming, but Sam couldn't hear the sounds… he could just see that open mouth and the tears falling down the ugly slightly deformed face. One arm was flailing and the hand was slapping at the ugly face with fat lips and eyes which were too small and too far apart. The other hand was tied to the bar at the side of the bed by a leather cuff. Sam looked to his side. A woman… maybe in her twenties, maybe in her seventies… maybe she was only ten… there really was no way to tell how old she was… Again the mouth was open in a scream. Her filthy clothes consisted of a greyish coloured tunic which was hitched up around her middle. One of her hands was exploring her womanly area and the other was picking at a nose which looked as though it had melted and was sunken in… Sam thought that by the way the face was one huge mass of lumps and raised welts that she was a burns victim… or maybe acid… or perhaps it was one of those diseases which do horrible things to you… like the elephant man had… The other side of him was a child… a child maybe… a boy certainly. He was naked and pink and shivering and drooling and again the mouth was open in a scream. 'Where the hell am I?' Sam asked… and he could hear his own voice and now other sounds began to filter through. Jabbering, shouts, howls, whooping wet sounds on insanity. 'What the fuck?' Sam went to get off the bed and then looked down. Both of his hands were cuffed to the bed… Both of his ankles were held in place… he too had a dirty tunic on… something which only just reached down to cover him. 'What the hell is this place?' Sam bellowed and finally a nurse in starched whites and a panicked over worked expression on her face arrived.

'You're awake.' She informed Sam. 'The tests are back and all the paper work has been filed. Tomorrow you will go down to surgery. Try to sleep.'

'Surgery? I don't understand.'

She placed a hand on Sam's forehead. 'You are cold. I'll get you a blanket.'

'I'm cold because I'm sitting in piss!' Sam shouted at the stupid woman.

'You are cold because you are awake. You will feel much better if you're sleeping. Tomorrow they will do the surgery. Everyone here is very – appreciative of young people like you and Mary there. Your contribution will be recorded.'

Sam wanted to grab her and stick fingers into her eyes. 'Surgery for what?'

'Abscesses on your brain. Everything is going to be good.' She patted Sam's arm. 'You must rest though.'

'I don't have abscesses on my brain! What are you talking about? What happened to these other people? What is this place?'

She gave Sam a sad smile and stuck a needle in his thigh. 'Sleep. Tomorrow it will all be over.'

He opened his mouth to scream but the world fell into a squashy wet silence and then those damned flickering lights went out.

So from that we can understand that Sam wasn't having the best time of his life.

o-o-o

Floyd guided Spencer to a corner table and sat him down, maybe a bit roughly. He wasn't in the mood to put up with Spencer's crap today. Did he have no feelings? He'd lost Sam! 'Listen to me Spence.' Floyd pulled up a chair close enough so that he could talk directly into Spencer's ear. 'What do you think people will say if I don't mention that Sam didn't come home? Don't you think they'll think it odd? Don't you think questions might be asked about it? You need to relax. I know what I'm doing.'

'But you don't.' Spencer responded. 'We both know that Sam disappears, right?' Floyd nodded at Spencer. 'So why would you think something had happened to him? Report him as a runaway, but for the gods, don't connect him with other kids here. We can do without the cops arriving and asking questions. We really can. I don't know half of the time what's going on. I can't guarantee I'll not accidentally say something. Please. Distance yourself from them.'

Floyd sat looking at that simple dull face of Spencer's for a while and then nodded. 'OK. You know better than me how the cops work, but Spence, if kids have gone missing and we've not only been here a week… Someone is going to come to me and accuse me of something. You know that. You know it'll happen. Then they will want to know where Sam is.'

'He's run away. He had an argument and stormed off. How many times has he done that?'

'You are making yourself an accessory to murder.' Floyd hissed into Spencer's ear.

'Floyd, I'm already one. I'd be sent to jail forever if they knew exactly how much I know about you. This is one more nail in my coffin, but don't for my sake… please don't talk to the locals.'

'If the cops come asking then I'm going to have to say something, obviously, but fine… for now I'll remain silent.'

Now Spencer said something which he thought afterwards that maybe might have been exactly the wrong thing to say. 'Do you have anything to do with the disappearance of the local kids?'

Floyd nodded, stood, took Spencer by the hand and dragged him to the restrooms. It was a small room with two urinals and one cubical. Easy to check that no one was in there and when the one person who was zipping up and leaving without washing his hands, had left, Floyd turned on Spencer. It was OK! He offered to pay for damages afterwards. The cubical fairly fell apart as Floyd threw Spencer at the not very robust side. The whole thing collapsed and Spencer landed on his back amongst piss and broken cubical. Spencer got his face smacked on the dirty urinals and the back of his head shattered the mirror over the washbasin. The whole battering took only a couple of minutes. It happened in virtual silence. It was when the mirror broke that Floyd let got of Spencer and watched him slip to the floor and started shouting. 'You stupid fuck! That's seven years bad luck now! Seven fucking years out of ten! You idiot fucking bitch! See what you've done now?'

Had Spencer heard what Floyd was yelling at him, he might have asked questions, but he was not listening. He was awake… he could hear the shouting, but he blocked out the meaning of those words. It was something he was beginning, after all the years he'd been with Floyd, finally learning to do. What Spencer was thinking was how alive he felt. He could feel the pain in his back. He could feel that he was bleeding. He could feel the spiking pain travelling around in his brain… and it felt good. All the time he could feel pain like this he was alive.

'Get the fuck out.' That wasn't Floyd's voice. That was the voice of someone who was talking to Floyd. 'What the hell have you been doing in here?'

'I was teaching the fucking moron a lesson. I think he's learnt it.' Spencer heard other voices muttering and giving opinions and he heard Floyd offering to pay for the damage done. 'Though some damage is irreparable. Some things just can't be repaired. Spencer get the fuck up off the floor. It's filthy down there. You're covered in old mans' piss.' And those familiar calloused hands were dragging him to his feet. 'He's a junky.' Floyd told the audience. I'll not have him abusing your facilities.'

Spencer didn't argue. There was no point in arguing. He didn't _want_ to argue. What he wanted was to go home and snuggle up with Floyd and feel those hands on him again. Hands which would batter and touch but never kill him.


	36. Chapter 36

36

It wasn't even properly night when Spencer and Floyd were ejected from the bar and told that they weren't welcome back again. Floyd told them where to stick the bar… sideways… and dragged a groggy muddle headed Spencer back towards the small shop. Spencer could feel blood running down the back of his neck and now he had a cut on the bridge of his nose to go with the split lip and the other lumps, bumps and scratches. In Floyd's eyes it just made Spencer look all the more desirable. There was nothing quite as beautiful as a Spencer who flinched away from a gentle touch or a Spencer who was so out of it that he didn't know what day of the week it was. It was perfection. It was a small sign that Spencer was his to control. And all the time Spencer was in this state he wouldn't go wandering off to seek fun elsewhere. This though reminded Floyd of Derek Morgan. It reminded Floyd of how Spencer had come home stinking of someone else. The punch to the side of Spencer's head was so fast and so well judged that it looked as though he'd hardly touched Spencer, but Floyd heard the crunching crack and he saw Spencer's head jerk to the side and then Floyd saw Spencer's knees unhinge. Like the fight (attack) in the restrooms it was done in silence. Floyd didn't even break his stride but he did turn around and look at Spencer splayed out in the street. He'd have to move him. A car might come along and squash him and that wasn't part of Floyd's plan. His plan was to make sure that Spencer knew that disobedience wouldn't be tolerated.

He crouched down in the gutter next to Spencer and touched a shaking shoulder. It looked as though Spencer was sobbing. It was getting better and better. Life was finally coming together as it should have been a long time ago. It was obviously Sam getting in the way of things. 'Spencer.' Floyd pinched a bit of bloody skin on the back of Spencer's neck. 'We have a lot to discuss. Your psychological welfare is foremost on my mind. I'm worried. The drugs are causing a rapid degeneration of your sanity. You can't even walk properly any more. I'm going to help you but you have to trust me. I need to help you. You _will_ trust me. I know that you are paranoid and I know that you have anxiety attacks. I know that you imagine all sorts of horrors and have all kinds of horrific dreams, but it's in your mind. You're destroying your brain. You are wrecking your body. Damn, Spencer I'd not nibble on your internal organs. Fuck knows what damage you've done to them with all of this messing with drugs and alcohol. So you must trust me. I will help you and you will hopefully recover. Now allow me to help you up again and I'll get you home.'

Spencer lay in the road with almost every part of his body aching. The punch to the side of the head had caused bright flashes of light to spark in his vision and for a moment as he hit the ground, that familiar grey fog had threatened to drag him off somewhere… but he stayed awake and he listened to Floyd's words and he knew that it wasn't him who had the problems. He knew it was Floyd who lived in his own odd imaginary world. He knew it was Floyd who would do something and then dismiss it as something totally different if he felt he needed to. Spencer hadn't fallen over because he was drunk! He'd hardly even sipped the drink Floyd had bought him. He'd fallen because that hammer like fist had slammed into his skull and knocked him off his feet.

Did Spencer say any of this though? 'I do trust you.' He told Floyd. 'And I do need your help.'

That was what Floyd wanted to hear. This was good. The dog was remembering the tricks he'd been taught before. 'Come on then. I'll help you home and we can relax. I'll read to you. I'll get something for the headache and we can just be the two of us. Tomorrow I'll call in Sam as a runaway. That will be the end of it, unless of course they find him.'

Spencer struggled to his feet. He'd bashed his hip as he'd gone down and stood now half leaning on Floyd and rubbing at his hip. 'You said they'd not find him.' Spencer licked at his sore lips and then wiped wet salty water off his cheeks.

'Well they might. Maybe he's going to make his way back to Wyoming.'

'He's dead.' Spencer reminded Floyd. 'He's not going back to Wyoming. He's going to lay in the bottom of the lake and the fish are going to eat his flesh.'

'No… really, Spencer – I think Wyoming.'

'Did you do what you said?' Spencer didn't like that this conversation was being held in the street, but now it had started it seemed wise to carry on. He might not get another chance.

'Sam is a run-away. He's done it often. Last time he made his way to Wyoming. I guess that's where he's going to go again.' Floyd hooked his arm around Spencer's and started to walk back down the road. 'Of course I don't know that for sure, but yeah… if asked… if pressed for a location I'd say somewhere between here and Wyoming. Where else would you start to look for a kid who often leaves home and doesn't return for months?'

Spencer didn't answer. He could suggest that they searched the lake, but he didn't say that. He didn't want to become part of Floyd's story either. A story which Spencer really wondered if Floyd was himself believing. Just as things begin to feel like they are going OK everything takes on a twist and becomes a nightmare again… at least for Spencer and he guessed for Sam too.

Floyd prepared food and they sat and ate it surrounded by the mess Sam had made. It hadn't started to smell of rotting meat yet, but Spencer thought that would happen soon. Floyd though, didn't comment. He said nothing when he swept a couple of dirty plates off the table onto the floor with his arm. He refilled a couple of glasses which had a smudge of red colour in the bottom of them from the wine they'd had the night before. Only one night… So much seemed to have happened.

Food, or maybe the wine made Spencer feel sleepy. He could feel his eyes trying to close and he didn't seem to have a whole lot of control of his body. He sat slumped in the chair trying desperately to stay awake. He didn't want to upset Floyd. He didn't want it too look as though he wasn't eternally grateful for the food provided. He wanted to…

… he wanted to ask if Floyd had drugged his food, though the question wasn't really needed. He knew that Floyd had. He could tell by the way Floyd was watching him and checking the mantel clock… looking to see how long it took to take effect. Half an hour maybe? He thought it must have been that long. 'Floyd – I'm… I think I need to sleep.'

Spencer couldn't remember anything else. There was a sensation of falling a great distance and being swept away. That was all he would be able to recall in the morning when he woke up with the bed sheets twisted around him and sore places on his back which might have come from when he was thrown around the restrooms and might not have… the pain somewhere else was definitely not from the thrashing he took. Floyd wasn't in the bed. There was a smell of cooking coming from downstairs and a rich lovely smell of fresh coffee. Spencer slid out of the bed and looked around for something to cover his nakedness. There was a bathrobe on the back of the door, so he slipped into that and slowly and painfully made his way down stairs to the small kitchen full of Floyd and smells of eggs and bacon.

Floyd didn't turn from where he was, looking over the back yard, but spoke. 'I was going to bring you breakfast in bed. You just can't help yourself can you?'

'Help myself?' Spencer carefully sat down on a kitchen chair.

'From ruining things for me. I've made a phone call… actually I made a couple.'

Now that must mean that something had happened. Floyd just hated phones. Why would he use one and not wait for Spencer to come down and use the machine of hades? 'Who did you call?'

'The cops. I reported Sam missing.' Now Floyd turned back to look at Spencer. 'He's still not home.' A plate of undercooked eggs and burnt bacon was placed in front of Spencer. 'I've also called in a doctor to have a look at you. I think you're going crazy on me again. I need someone to confirm it. You fell in the street last night.'

Spencer looked at the food and listened to Floyd. 'Sam? Floyd you said you drowned him. He's not going to come walking back in again. Even if for some reason he's somewhere else now… he's just not going to want to be here with us. He's not going to come back for you to do that to him again. In the short time he was with us he was beaten, shot, and now drowned… why would he come back? Are the cops coming here?'

'They are. Sam isn't the only person to have gone missing that same night. They think that there might be a connection.'

Shifting through lies and delusions, Spencer didn't know where to start. 'There is no connection.' Spencer finally said.

'Right!' Floyd sat down with his own plate of food. It looked like uncooked sausages and something grey and lumpy. Spencer didn't even want to start to think what it was. 'So they will come and ask questions, but that's fine. Just fine.' He picked up a spoon off the floor and dug into the grey stuff. 'The doctor will talk to you, but don't worry. I'll be right there. Nothing to be scared about. If there's something you don't know or if you get stressed, I'll be at your side. Listening… listening to everything. And before that happens...' Floyd paused and moved a fork towards Spencer. '…you must eat. And you must listen to me very carefully. I don't want to have to keep repeating myself. Sam is a constant runaway – you have mental health problems. You take drugs… you've had syphilis and Chlamydia…'

'…not that I know of.' Spencer sniped back. He picked up the fork and stirred the eggs with it.

'Well you have… or was that Sam?'

'It was Sam. Please don't start confusing the two of us. You seem confused enough as it is. Maybe the doctor should talk to you too. I think… I really think…'

The fork was snatched from Spencer's hand and stabbed downwards into a bit of flesh showing on Spencer's thigh. When Floyd removed his hand the fork stayed there with drops of blood welling up around the three fork tines. Spencer did and said nothing. He just looked down at it and swallowed. He was lucky. He was so damned lucky.

'I love you.' Floyd spoke with conviction. 'That is why that fork isn't sticking out of your fucking eye. Don't leave it there and if you're not going to eat I'll have the food. You are the most ungrateful bastard I've ever known. Get the fuck out of my sight… fucking head-case!'

Floyd watched Spencer leave the kitchen again and grinned. The fork had been placed on the kitchen table and so Floyd picked it up and licked it clean. The sweet taste of Spencer's blood flooded his brain. There was nothing like it. Really nothing. Well maybe that one other thing which Spencer produced. That was pretty nice too. Floyd put the licked fork back in the cutlery drawer and stood again staring out of the window. This time with his plate… eating bits of something with his fingers and smiling to him self. 'Where are you Sam?' He asked himself. 'Oh yes! I remember! You're in hell!'

The doctor arrived to speak to Spencer just before mid-day. The three of them sat together in the small lounge even though Dr Swift had suggested that Floyd wasn't there. Floyd insisted that he'd promised Spencer that he would be there for emotional support. Obviously that wasn't true. Floyd was there to ensure that Spencer didn't go off track and start talking about things which Floyd thought would be very detrimental to their future happiness together. Dr Swift asked Spencer a few basic questions about how he was feeling…

'Terrible headaches.' Spencer had told him. Floyd had smiled lovingly at this.

Spencer told the doctor that he sometimes felt confused… no, not about what he wanted… but about when he'd last eaten, or what day of the week it was. He said that his mind felt bogged down with things which he couldn't explain. There was too much. 'Just too much.' Floyd handed Spencer a box of tissues and gave him a sad, sad smile.

'He gets anxious.' Floyd informed the doctor.

'I would like to hear this from Spencer.' The doctor told Floyd. 'I need to hear what Spencer thinks and feels, not your interpretation of what you see.' He spoke again to Spencer. 'Is there a reason for this feeling? Has something happened?'

Spencer didn't say anything else. He just sat with his hands twisting in his lap, occasionally wiping water off his face.

'Do you have any medical conditions besides this one of general confusion? Are you diabetic or do you suffer from blackouts?'

'No he's not and no he doesn't, but he does fall…' Floyd then gave the doctor a very piercing look. 'And though we don't practice safe sex we are both monogamous and clean, so if you're asking if he's HIV or something? No he's not. There is a history of mental illness in his family. His mother to be precise and his father was hardly the most stable of people.' Floyd leaned forwards closer to the doctor and placed a hand on Spencer's thigh in the place he'd stuck in the fork earlier. 'I called you because I'm concerned. He self harms. Look at the mess his arms are in. He doesn't seem to know how to cook or even keep himself clean. He was eating half cooked eggs this morning. I just need you to give him something to keep his head straight. To keep him calm. To stop the rages and the spontaneous attacks. I need him to be safe. I need him to be better.'

The doctor thought that Spencer needed to be taken into hospital for a while. He needed to be monitored.

'I can't.' Spencer said. 'I'm not… Floyd tell him!'

'He's also very paranoid, but I think that goes with the delusional behaviour and the hallucinations. I need him with me. He knows I'd never hurt him.'

'Floyd would never hurt me.' Spencer confirmed around this split lip and sobs of breath. 'I can't leave Floyd.'

The doctor nodded and said that he would give Spencer something to help him sleep. This of course wasn't what Spencer wanted.

'When I take something to sleep I fall into the darkest nightmares you could imagine… and I can't awaken. I can't take something to make me sleep. I can't.'

Again the doctor suggested that Spencer was hospitalised and this time Floyd stood and shook his head. 'If that's the only help you can offer I can't see that you're going to be any help at all. His mother was locked up. She is schizophrenic… if this is the path Spencer is going down I will care for him myself. I'll never see him locked away.'

So the doctor wrote a prescription out. 'It will calm his nerves, stop the brain from firing off and will stop the impulsive actions. This other one will help him…'

'I'm here. Please talk to me… I'm the one taking the damned things.' Spencer stood too now… he wobbled and sat back down again, pressing the heel of his hands over his eyes.

And that was it. It was that easy! Call one not very good doctor who wanted a large amount of money in cash and the deal was struck. Now Floyd could legally sedate and drug Spencer. All was going to be fantastic. As long as Spencer didn't question the medication or the lies Floyd had spoken. Now they could relax and open up the shop and things could finally start to get – well get normal. Floyd frowned at the top of Spencer's head. 'You did good Babes. You did real good. See, I knew they'd have a cure for you.'

'Drugging me isn't curing me.' Spencer commented. He looked up at Floyd and he wanted to say that he knew what was going on, but actually he didn't think he did any more. There's only so much you can put a person through and expect them to come out the other side with a semblance of sanity still in place. Spencer no longer knew what he wanted or where he wanted to be. 'I think I'll go back to bed again. I don't want to talk to the police when they arrive. Can you cope with the shop on your own?'

'Cope on my own? Uh hu… sure. You go rest and I'll come get you when dinner is ready. Go sleep. Here...' Floyd put a hand out, '…I'll help you.'

Spencer sighed and allowed Floyd to half drag him back up the stairs. He let Floyd strip him off again and then he stood there feeling vulnerable and defeated as Floyd straightened out the bedding and made it comfortable for Spencer again. 'Remember to get dressed before you come down. I might have visitors.'

'Sure.' Spencer muttered. Visitors… yes… what Floyd meant was he might be screwing someone on their couch. His head sunk down into the pillow and his head pounded. 'Painkillers?'

A small white pill was slapped into Spencer's hand. 'Chew on it. The effect is much better, faster… powerful… chew… are you chewing?'

Spencer opened his mouth to show the crushed remains and Floyd smiled. 'Thank you Floyd.' Spencer muttered. He didn't really think that there was anything to thank Floyd _for_, but he thanked him anyway. He'd sat there in front of some doctor who Spencer suspected wasn't fully or qualified or had been banned from the profession for accepting money for prescription drugs but for now he had to let it go. He needed to sleep. He had to close his eyes and just let everything go for now. Until he had his head straight again he couldn't even start to figure out what was going on. He now as he felt him self drift into a lovely deep sleep, actually think that Sam _had_ run off. That Floyd had threatened him or refused him something and Sam had just left. It felt right. It was what Spencer wanted to believe.

o-o-o

The shop had been open for an hour. He'd had two people come in and have a look and then walk out again. That was fine with Floyd. He wasn't here to make a profit. He already knew that the shop was full of fakery. Anyone who bought anything would be a complete idiot. But then the world was full of idiots. Floyd sat on a leather chair in the corner of the room and he drank Whiskey and he smoked cheroots.

'What's this?' A short woman with curly brown hair and a face like a cow asked.

'A bag of mystical dirt from Tibet. It wards off… vampires and lesser demons.' Floyd flicked ash onto the floor. 'You don't look like someone who would need to protect herself from demons.'

'I'm not.' She said. 'I was just curious. What's that?' She pointed to a small metal disk which was displayed next to the skull.

Floyd sighed, got up and walked over to the cabinet. 'A protection. A protection from nightmares. It binds and removes them. But you don't look like someone who has sleep problems. What exactly is it you're looking for?'

'I was hoping for something to help with my health. I've been diagnosed with something.'

'The darkness eats away at your gut.' Floyd told her. 'It will spread and you'll die in agony if you don't do something about it. I suggest that you go out and have as much sex as you can before it's too late, but in the meantime I can give you something to help with pain. I can't remove the growths, but I can ease the effects.' He ignored the look of horror on her face. He ignored the way she clutched at her stomach. 'Or…' He turned back again. 'Are you pregnant?'

'Mister I don't know what your game is, but scare tactics are really dishonest.'

Floyd shook his head. 'No… really, I see something bad growing inside of you. If you _are_ pregnant, I suggest you go and have that thing checked out. I don't can't imagine that the monster eating at your guts is something that will be a viable live birth. Here.' He held out a bit of melted silver. 'This will protect you in a manner. Not total. Magical tokens are not the same as proper medical treatment… but ma'm, you don't want to give birth to that thing.'

'And how will this help? What do I do with it?'

'Place it in a glass of water next to your bed. Just don't drink it OK… leave it there. Remove it in the morning and then drink the water. Repeat for as long as you need to, but remember to remove the token before you drink it. You don't want to make matters worse by having that working its way through your guts. That's fifteen dollars. I only take cash on items that small.'

'You're a charlatan.' She spat at him. 'You know nothing about me!'

He returned the bit of silver back to the drawer it had come from. 'I'll not press my business on anyone ma'm. If you don't want it I'm not going to force you to buy it, but you know where it is. And when you get yourself checked out and you see what I say is true? Well maybe then?' Floyd smiled and went back to his whiskey and chair. 'Good day!' He called out to the retreating back of the woman.

The other person who came in was a teenaged girl wearing a lot of black with her hair dyed and cut in a choppy bob. 'Nice afternoon.' Floyd remarked as she walked in. She was like so many young teen girls he'd seen who thought it was cool to wear too much eye make up and have clothing to suggest that they were _different_ – except there were millions of girls who dressed exactly the same… the different had become the norm. How strange life is. 'What sort of thing are you interested in?'

'Holy water.' She gave a small smile.

Floyd raised an eyebrow. 'Really? Why would you come here asking for such a thing when there's a church just up the road?'

'Towner locks the church and wont let us in. He got fed up with us taking his water.' She ran fingers over the glass cabinet.

'Why would you want holy water?' Floyd stood now and walked over to her. Was she part of the crew of kids he'd killed? Was he going to have to rip her neat little titties off her chest and feed them roasted in garlic to Spencer for a joke?

'There's weird stuff going on. We think there's vampires. We think they were attracted to this place because of… well because of our interest in things like that. And now my friends have gone missing and I just feel…'

Floyd nodded. 'Well… if you want protection from vampires, I have just the thing.' He took the blob of silver out again. 'It's silver. A piece of what is known as The Cross of Malefax. It was used to destroy vampires in Europe. Obviously the actual cross was destroyed in the great plague of 1592… in London. The plague though it's said was spread by rats, was actually spread by diseased vampiric blood. The Cross of Malefax belonged to a great priest called Isgar-Quenell who was in fact an Angel…' Floyd was really getting into this now. '…He took the cross and delved into the nest of the beats and pressed the silver cross onto their foreheads… he had to find the father… and he did. But in the process the Cross of Malefax melted. It was too much even for a silver cross belonging to an Angel… this is but a small part of it. He sent out the small pieces to others who might need them for protection. 'He was a great Angel.' Floyd confirmed.

'Wow.' The stupid slut had been pulled right in. Why were people like her so stupid? Well if Floyd knew that he'd be able to invent a vaccine against moronic behaviour in teenagers… unfortunately he didn't know. 'How much is it?'

'For you?' Floyd bounced the bit of melted spoon in his hand. 'I can't let it go for less than fifty bucks and that's only because I can see you are serious about this vampire sh… stuff.'

'I will have to confer with my friends and maybe we can get the money between us. Can you keep it?'

'I'm afraid I will have to ask for five bucks deposit. Which of course I wont be able to return if you decide not take up my fantastic offer.'

So an afternoon's work and he'd earned five bucks, which was better than nothing. He slipped the note into his pocket and went back to his chair. She'd be back. Oh yes… she'd be back… unless of course he'd not killed her buddies the day before.

'Flanders?' An official sounding voice asked from the doorway. The cops had arrived. Time for another story. This one of woe and misfortune.


	37. Chapter 37

37

'That's me.' Floyd stood. 'He's not turned up yet.' He walked towards the police officer and put out a hand to shake. It was looked at and ignored.

'I'm here because you reported someone missing.'

'My ward, Sam… Sam Trent-Saviour.' The police officer wanted a description. He was a long way over six foot and maybe four foot wide. A big chap and Floyd doubted that there was any fat in that bulk. 'He's five six, aged sixteen or thereabouts. And I say that because the date of his birth is unknown, not because I don't know… you see? Well, he's skinny, pale, long dark hair. Sometimes he will have a bit of eyeliner on. He… well can be a bit of an extravert.'

The officer was making notes, but this could have been a description of any number of young people. He wanted a more accurate description or maybe a photograph. 'There has to be a photo of his somewhere.' The officer said.

And yes, there did have to be and yes there were, but could he show the vaguely pornographic pictures of Sam to this man?

'Sam has problems. He's very emotionally unstable and he does things which I don't agree with. There are some pictures of him on the laptop. But you do have to believe me when I say that I didn't take them… it's Sam's doing.' So the cop was treated to some images of Sam. Images which caused alarm. Images which seemed _wrong_, but yet were not illegal. 'I told you he had problems. He whores. He runs off to the city and sells his arse for drugs. Now I could get him locked away, but I wanted to show him good morals. I want him to grow up feeling wanted and loved.' Floyd paused and pointed to the printer. 'Want me to print some off for you? Just the head shots obviously. I don't want you to think I'm offering to give you sick pornographic images of a teenager.'

The cop stood staring at Floyd and then he glanced back at the laptop again and then again at Floyd. 'You were aware of this?'

'Obviously. Sam is a strange person. He doesn't seem to think that there's anything wrong with this sort of thing and has no nudity taboo. So yes, I worry when he runs off like he seems to have done again. He's been through a hell of a lot recently. He's a very unhappy young man. He acts out and if I don't handle him carefully he leaves and looks for… comfort… somewhere else.' How close had Floyd just come to saying _sex_ instead of _comfort_? Very close. 'Anyway. He stormed out the other night and hasn't returned. So I gave you a call. Sometimes you see he'll return after a day of his own accord, but last time he was all the way in Wyoming when we found him again… he's only been back a few weeks… one of those was spent in hospital. He as shot… so you'll know if you find him… he has a scar on his chest. I am wondering what there was in Wyoming. I never got around to questioning him on that, but he might be on his way back there. As far as I know he had no money on him. But Sam has a way of getting hold of money. I just need him found before he's picked up by the cops again. I need him here where I know he's safe.' It was a nice little speech. Did the cop believe him? Well Floyd didn't know, but he took a couple of head shot pictures of Sam and then the cop advised Floyd to get rid of the other things on the laptop.

Floyd saw him to the door, then closed and locked it behind him. The turned the sign to _Closed_ and went back to sit on the chair in the corner.

'I have to remember that I am doing this for Spencer. I have to remember that Spencer's mental health and well being is why I'm here.' Even though they were in a small village in the middle of nowhere and even though they had fantastic views over the lake he was feeling horribly claustrophobic. He had control of Spencer for now, but that meant he couldn't leave him and go off hunting alone and he couldn't take Spencer with him all the time he was doped up and couldn't be trusted. At least he'd put out the right messages for the cops. They'd not be back for a while he hoped. But then there were these other missing kids… kids which Floyd knew weren't coming home either. Now what to do? The dark crawled in around the corners of the room. Spencer was still sleeping. There was no night life here and Floyd was bored.

Floyd went up to the bedroom and checked on the sleeping Spencer. He looked lovely and peaceful and Floyd thought that at least he'd managed to provide that for him. There was no twitching and kicking and yelping out in a nightmare… he was just laying there with the bedcovers draped over him and though it was a beautiful sight to see, he left the room and walked to the bathroom. Floyd didn't run water into the tub, but he got in anyway and lay on his back with one arm draped over the edge and his head tipped back. He rested his booted feet on the other end of the tub and the closed his eyes. At least he had his own sort of peace in the bathroom… and now he was going to go and explain things to Sam and see if he'd killed Az yet.

o-o-o

Az saw someone approaching. He thought it looked like Floyd's swagger, but it wasn't easy to tell. He did though, curl up and wrap his arms around himself.

Floyd knew that Az had seen him and he noted the defensive posture he took. But he wasn't here to make sure Az was all right. Actually he was amazed that Az was still lucid. He walked into his giant fancy tent and looked around. Sam wasn't here.

'Where's Sam?' Floyd asked the person chained to the floor.

'I've not seen Sam… not for a long time.' Az muttered.

'He came here yesterday.' Floyd informed him. 'I sent him here.'

'Well he didn't arrive.' Az told him. 'Are you ever going to let me go?'

'Nope.' Floyd walked around the tent picking up bottles and looking at the contents and then placing them back again. 'You are my compensation for having a really shit time doing my job… a job which I adore… but I'm still having a shit time. So… no Sam.'

Az didn't take his eyes off Floyd. The man or whatever he was terrified him. 'What can I do to persuade you to release me and let me go home again? I would do anything.' Floyd hated to see a man grovel and beg and plead for something unless it was for his life and as he had no intention of topping lovely slutty Az, then there was no need to beg – therefore he wasn't enjoying this much at all. He'd been expecting Sam. He'd been expecting a fight. He _wanted_ a fight and there was nothing to fight against. He could have kicked Az around for a while, but that was no compensation to listening to Sam's complaints. 'Please, there must be something.'

'Yeah… there is something. Shut the fuck up.' Floyd turned from this little home in hell and began to walk away. He was smiling. Just a tiny bit of pleasure derived from Az shouting out and offering his arse… and Floyd thought that maybe he could go back and have a bit… just to relieve the boredom, but he didn't. It was more fun to leave the bastard where he was. His worry though was where the hell Sam was. He could wait and see if someone would talk to him, but he had a feeling that it was going to be a very long wait. There was only one other choice. He could go to The Old Woman, but the only way to her now was to die. It wouldn't have to be permanent death… or maybe not even a total death… just a little scare will be enough to get him to see her. It would of course mean talking to Spencer about it. He'd have to make sure that Spencer didn't just let him die. He'd done this sort of thing before. It wasn't difficult. He'd just need to persuade Spencer to do the right thing and this _was_ the right thing. He hoped.

Spencer opened his groggy eyes and looked up at Floyd who was standing next to the bed. He gave a very small smile and coughed up some gunk into his fist. Spencer looked like a the most beautiful creature ever created. Floyd would have bet his life on that… apart from Sam and himself he didn't think that someone could beat the simple beauty which was Spencer. He sat on the side of the bed and stroked some stray hair off Spencer's face. 'You're looking a lot better.' He wasn't. He was looking like someone itching for a fix, but that wasn't a problem. Floyd liked that look. He liked Spencer to look defeated and degraded. Floyd's mouth twitched into a smile. 'I need to talk to you about Sam.'

He might well have done, but the whole matter was confusing Spencer. It made it feel as though his brain was swelling and it made his eyes feel like they were being forced out of his skull. 'I'm listening.' Listening and understanding are not the same thing though.

'I'm going to go to the bathroom and get in the tub… clothed and I'm going to slash my wrist. I need you to leave me there for a couple of minutes and then staunch. You have to wait for the exact right time.'

Spencer thought he must have still been dreaming. That made no sense and it wasn't a conversation about Sam. 'I… what? You what?'

Poor muddled Spencer. 'Spencer, Babes… I need to go talk to The Old Woman. I can only do that if technically I'm dead… so you need to let me bleed out enough for my heart to stop and then you need to staunch. It'll be fine. I'll be back as long as you stop the bleeding. There's stuff, bandages and shit… You can do that for me?'

'Staunch?' Spencer sat up. 'No… I can't do that for you! Are you mad? Why do you need to talk to The Old Woman? After what happened last time you can't guarantee that you'll end up being able to talk to her.'

'She owes me one. Of course she will. I just went _home_, Az was there, but Sam wasn't.'

Spencer kicked off the bedding. 'Az? You have Az somewhere?'

Oh it was going to end up as a big to do all over nothing! Floyd could feel it! Why did Spencer have to have such an attitude about the guys he liked to Fuck! 'He's just an arse!' Floyd shouted at him. 'And I didn't screw him. I thought Sam would be there. He's not. He's not been there… so where the fuck is he? Well The Old Woman will be able to tell me.'

Spencer was shaking his head. 'I don't think so. Sam is not on her little list. Sam isn't one of hers. Why would he be there?'

'I never said he'd be there! I said she can find him! She can pull in favours.'

'And for you to do that you are going to cut your wrists and expect me to be able to save you at the last second?'

'Yup. Get up and get coffee. I need you awake for this.'

He was talking crazy again of course, but Spencer went down and brewed up coffee. He dropped a carton of milk on the floor. It seemed to explode and shoot milk in every direction possible. And why he had milk in his hand in the first place he didn't know. He was here to make coffee and both of them drank it black and sweet. Spencer also poured coffee all over the work surface, dropped the sugar bowl on the counter and made a vile mess as it mixed with hot wet coffee. Floyd was going to go apeshit at him.

'Spencer! What the hell are you doing down there? I'm waiting!' Floyd called… the voice had a slight echo and Spencer assumed rightly that Floyd was waiting for him in the bathroom. Half way up the stairs he tripped and dropped one of the mugs. 'Spencer!'

'Yes! I'm on my way.' He'd have to find a way to clean up the mess before Floyd saw it.

He was right. Floyd was again sitting fully clothed in the dry tub. He had a razor blade in his hand and a smile on his face. 'You know what you have to do?'

'Wait until your heart stops and then staunch.'

'No… if you wait until my heart stops I'm too far dead. You need to wait for fibrillation, but you'll know cos you're the brightest little button on the planet and I know you know what to do. You'll see. You'll know.'

Spencer knelt next to the bathtub and took Floyd's hand. 'This is mad. It's insane. Please don't do this. What if I refuse to help you?'

'Refuse? Oh I might take you square dancing and then go fuck Az. Up to you.'

'You make it sound easy. What if I leave it too late? What if I make a mistake? I don't feel right… my head feels muddled. I don't want to have to do this, Floyd… can it not wait? Please? Wait at least until I've woken up a bit?'

'No. I'm in the mood to do it now. Get some towels and drink up the coffee. It'll be done and dusted in less than five minutes. OK… that's all it's going to take. I just need to ask her one little biddy question and I'll be right back. Just don't let me bleed right out.'

'It's too risky.' Spencer grabbed at Floyd's arm.

'It's for Sam. I'm worried about him.'

Spencer could have pointed out that Floyd had actually drowned Sam but was there any point? He didn't think so. Spencer grabbed some towels and hunkered down again next to the tub. 'Please…'

'Stop whining. I trust you. I trust you completely. Just do what I've asked you to do. It's better to stop it too soon than too late.'

Spencer nodded. 'I'm ready.' His head was spinning though… he felt horribly sick. 'Floyd… promise me that you're not abandoning me again. I can't… I just can't be without you.'

Ah such nice words. 'I'm not abandoning you. If I was going to do that I'd go do this in private. I'm sure everything would be OK anyway, but with the way they were last time… and with Sam not being where he should be… I don't want to take the risk. This is the only way I can speak to her.'

'Very well.' Spencer swallowed back bile and his stomach clenched… The room swam once and then settled again.

'On three then, and remember that I love you.'

Spencer heard Floyd count to three. He heard the horrible sound of a blade slicing through flesh. He looked down at the rapid flow of blood. It pumped and pumped blood down his arm along the fingers hanging over the side of the tub… and it dripped…

The room span.

The blood made a small splat sound as it hit the floor.

Spencer yelped and moved back.

The blood… so much blood – a puddle.

The bathroom continued to spin. Spencer reached out to grab something and missed. His head hit the radiator with a loud crunch. He let out a small noise which might have been 'no' and might have just been a noise which meant nothing.

The blood carried on flowing… the puddle increased.

Floyd's head snapped back and hit the edge of the tub as his eyes rolled back.

Spencer lay motionless on the floor making his own small puddle from a bleeding cut on the back of his head.

The blood eventually stopped dripping.

The room was silent.

A phone rang.

A muscle at the side of Floyd's eye twitched then stilled.


	38. Chapter 38

38

'When will your stupidity ever end?'

The voice spoke gently as Floyd grasped at the damp grass and his eyes looked up at the clear blue sky. 'Old Woman.' Floyd twitched a smile. 'I need your help.'

He got a waft of her as she sat down on the grass next to him. 'You would not be here if you weren't going to ask for my help. One day you will accept your fates. At least I hope that one day you will. This bouncing back and forth is not doing you any favours.'

Floyd rolled onto his side and the smile broadened slightly. 'I've not much time. No time for small talk. I need to know where Sam is.'

He saw her nod and he saw a slight breeze pick at her long white hair but her expression didn't change. 'I don't know where Sam is.' She told him. 'but I do think that we have time for small talk. As I asked before – When will your stupidity ever end? Spencer can't help you, Floyd. He is at this moment laying unconscious on the bathroom floor. You are meant to guard _him_ not the other way around and your guardian duties are failing. He will choke on his own vomit and will be found in a few days, fly blow… next to a bathtub with a puddle of your blood next to it. Of course you would have been reclaimed by then. You really are – for someone so intelligent – so very stupid.'

This wasn't what Floyd wanted to hear. He should have been able to feel Spencer pulling him back again already, but nothing was happening. The slow painful cranking of his heart and the sickly acidic feeling he had flowing through him as telling him what he needed to know. 'Unconscious? How? He was fine… he was…'

'Spencer can hardly walk. He can hardly think for himself. You've made very sure of that. Then you expect him to know when to stop the bleeding? You expect him to be able to stay awake and lucid for long enough? What made you think that? And why are you looking for a creature and putting so much at risk when it was you who ended his life… for what it was worth… but why? Are you completely insane now? Is there anything left of the Floyd I loved and mothered?'

Floyd now got to his feet and wiped stray bits of grass off his knees. 'I thought…'

'No, no you didn't. That's exactly the thing you failed to do. You didn't think. You had a crazy notion that you have control of things and you don't. You never have and you never will have. Remember you are just an ex-guardian. You don't even have that badge to wear full time any longer. You failed us and you failed _Them_ – where else is there to go now? Fancy trying a totally different doctrine? Have you considered becoming a Buddhist or something because as much as I love you I despair of you equally. Go back… and don't return to me unless you have your insides on your outside and the reason for it isn't personal greed.'

'Tell me where Sam is!'

She shook her head. 'No. I can't because I don't know. However if I did know I think I would keep that information from you anyway. You are – supposedly – a perfectly angelic being. You heal the dying. You protect the weak. You don't need The Sam bringing you down. Let him go, Floyd. We gave you the chance to recover him and we gifted you with something. If you choose to throw that all away and cover yourself with the filth and the depravity of _Them_ then I don't think there is any more we can do for you.'

Floyd wanted to pound her into the ground. He wanted to strangle her with her hair. Why was she such a fucking bitch to him! She said she favoured him. She said she loved him as a child and then she would refuse him? He placed a hand on his chest and could feel the panicked jerking of his heart. He could feel a dreadful shaking beginning, starting in his toes and creeping up his legs and up his spine. 'I need to know where Sam is.' The words came out juddery and broken.

'Go back.'

'I can't! I'm waiting for Spencer.'

'Then you're going to have to wait a very long time.'

'Then how?' Floyd walked in a small circle. He thought he could hear buzzing of flies but there didn't seem to be any.

'I'll send you back, but this is your final favour. You cannot keep on taking and not producing anything but pain and despair.'

'You want me to be happy? Keep Spencer safe? Not have Sam?'

She raised an eyebrow. 'You killed Sam. What do you want me to do about that? He's not one of mine, Floyd. I have no control over what they do with their dogs. He's nothing, not to me and not really to them, but if you expected me to be worried over what has happened to Sam and if you expected me to care… then you're very wrong.' She raised a hand to the side of her face and smiled. 'Well… it seems that he's not where you thought. He's earth bound. And he's unhappy. Now is that what you wanted to hear? Go!'

'I don't know what I'm doing any longer. I don't know how to hold things together.'

'Stop thinking of yourself. Sort Spencer out. You have him for ten years. Ten years only. Make the most of them.'

She snapped her fingers in his face and the blue sky and the cool grass was gone.

Floyd was back in the bathtub and everything was feeling very wrong. The shaking which had started over on the grass had increased. His head was jerking and smacking on the edge of the tub, his feet were twitching and kicking… it felt like he had an evil butterfly in his chest… fluttering… nothing pounding there now, but the pain was like someone had a fist around it and was squeezing. Floyd opened his mouth and screamed. He screamed a long _Where the fuck are you?_ Sort of scream which Floyd thought might have damaged something inside of him and then realised that the scream had maybe been the last sound he was going to make for a while. The insane grasping and banging of his fists. The way the bathroom ceiling was shifting in and out of view… Floyd had a very good idea that it was too late. Not that it would matter. He'd kick up a fuss and demand he was sent back again… Hey! He is immortal! But it would mean leaving Spencer alone for a long time whilst he sorted other things out.

o-o-o

From somewhere Spencer heard a cry… more of a cry… more like a blood curdling scream. He was on his back looking up at a ceiling which wasn't quite in focus and as he became more aware of where he was and what that smell was he turned on his side and looked over at the tub… it was where the scream had come from, but it couldn't be Floyd… no way could it be! There was too much blood! Where had all that blood come from? It was like something from a terror movie… the type where you see blood pouring under doors… it was like that. There isn't that much blood inside a person and if there _was_ no one could survive losing that much.

'Oh no.' Spencer gasped as his mind cleared enough for him to remember what it was he was meant to do. 'Oh no… no Floyd.' He scuttled like a beetle. He squelched over the blood. Was there a point in staunching now? Floyd was not going to survive this. Spencer had laid on the floor and let him die. He'd as good as murdered him. 'Oh god no.' He touched the side of Floyd's neck… if there was a pulse he couldn't find it. He placed a hand on Floyd's chest but if his heart was beating and if his lungs were still working he couldn't tell.

He now had a number of choices… he could let him die and hope he would forgive him and come back and everything would be wonderful, he could provide Floyd with what he would need. Spencer knew this. He'd seen Floyd do this before when he'd suffered major blood loss… he could replace it with someone else's blood. Or Spencer could call for an ambulance. The last idea was stupid. The ambulance would never arrive on time. There was the hope that Floyd could drag himself into hibernation and heal up in his own time… or maybe… Spencer looked down at the razor blade which had fallen from Floyd's hand… Spencer could be the blood donor. Even the thought of going out and getting someone to donate crossed Spencer's mind. Would he and could he kill for Floyd? Right now, yes – Spencer thought that he could well do that, but he couldn't leave him… and how could he, who was having problems even making a mug of coffee get someone to be willing enough to feed the monster in the bathtub? Stupid idea, but still it flittered around in Spencer's mind for a little while. He then wondered if he could soak up Floyd's blood and wring it out again? Get a spoon and scoop it up off the floor? No time even to do that! The small twitching and tiny hardly noticeable movements had stopped. Floyd was laying inside the tub slowly cooling down as his blood almost seemed to crawl across the bathroom floor, like it was alive… as though it was a sentient life form and was going to rise up and become – well Spencer didn't know what it could become but he didn't want to meet it whatever it was! He pulled himself over the lip of the tub so that he was sitting astride Floyd. There as dampness… and a feeling that if he didn't cut into his vein pretty soon that his body would explode. Whether it was the effect of the drugs or the fact that Spencer was sliding quickly into withdrawals… he didn't know, but it felt that his heart was pounding double beat; as though it was pumping double the blood… and if he didn't release it now his skin which was feeling hot and sweating and maybe even tight, was going to split and the extra blood would be wasted. This wasn't a feeling Spencer had had before, but in the past they'd not been bonded… So that's what Spencer decided this was… not an effect of the drugs, not an hallucination and not his imagination… He leaned over the side of the tub, picked up the blade from the cooling blood and wiped it clean on a small wash cloth. Not that it would make that much difference. 'Floyd… I'm here. I'm going to help or I'll die trying.'

What happened next wasn't what Spencer expected.

It was an offer that Floyd wasn't going to turn down. It did enormous tingly things to various happy parts of his body hearing Spencer say that he'd give his life for him. Job done really. At least in Floyd's mind. The boy was his. If Spencer offered his life for him then that was complete loyalty. Can someone ever really want more than that? Maybe more than one totally loyal subject, but for now just Spencer and when Sam was around loyalty seemed to slip away… damned sluts… can't keep it in their pants. But that's not the point really. If when dying someone offers you a chance to recover, who'd not take it? Really… who would be such a martyr that they would turn it down. A fool that's who and Floyd wasn't a fool. Argue that thought with him another time.

It's like that belief that if you save someone's life they are beholden to you. Well Floyd couldn't say he'd never saved Spencer's life and so if you also want to take into consideration all the shit he'd been through to keep the boy alive then this was just perfection. It was right. It really was the right thing to do. But then the mind plays tricks when your body is cooling and your mind can't think beyond that overwhelming need to have blood. He could feel Spencer sitting over his hips. It was a beautiful moment! It was divine. But there was no blood to flow into those places which were tingling as though someone was running a tazer over him… gently… on low… stimulating power.

When he moved he moved fast. He wanted to do this himself. He didn't want to lay there like an invalid waiting for his dinner. He wanted to take. He reached up and grabbed Spencer's hair and pulled him down close. He could see the alarmed _Oh Fuck_ look on Spencer's face and he smiled at it. It was so beautiful. 'You turn me on so much when you're frightened.' Floyd whispered this… maybe he didn't say the words but put them directly into Spencer's head. 'For the gods, you're beautiful.' Floyd jerked Spencer's head closer… pulling against a slight resistance, but nothing even a virtually dead Floyd couldn't handle. He could smell Spencer. He could hear that pounding heart… and he could see the blood pumping in that artery in his neck. He could hear that Spencer was saying something along the lines of… _let go_ or something, but too late. Much too late. He'd asked him to not let it go this far. Next time he'll realise why.

Spencer's arterial blood squirted down the back of Floyd's throat and like the rest of Spencer is was like tasting nectar. It was the sweetest most divine taste available to any man or woman… or animal. Floyd clamped his mouth over the side of Spencer's neck and crunched down. The flow of blood was rapid and beautiful… as beautiful as the person the blood came from. However… a dead Spencer is not worth his weight in shit, so this just had to be a revival and nothing more. But it was fair warning against letting him down. This wasn't going to be something Floyd was going to forgive Spencer for, but damn that blood felt good… maybe it was also slightly addictive? He wasn't sure. It was like having sex for the first time all over again. That tingling increased as Spencer struggled to get away, but that would have killed the silly boy. Floyd had to finish feeding first and the lick at the wound so it would clot and heal and everything was going to be so wonderfully fine!

Spencer felt the teeth slice into his neck and the horror of what Floyd had done hit him like a sledge hammer. Floyd was sucking out his blood! Yes, sure… argue about it, Spencer had been on the verge of cutting into his wrist and letting Floyd drink, but biting into his neck? Spencer had no control over that. Floyd was sucking his blood out of him and he struggled and tried to protest, but even mostly dead Floyd's strength was ten times that of Spencer's. He couldn't do anything and when he felt Floyd's tongue licking and his lips kissing, Spencer did the manly thing of passing out. Floyd wrapped his arms around his almost murderer and then life saver. They lay with blood on them and now with the occasional buzz of an insect. For Floyd this was a glorious moment. A wonderful moment. He could feel Spencer's blood running through his body and much like Spencer had thought that the puddle on the floor was alive so did Floyd think that Spencer's blood had a life of its own. It tickled and tingled and slid its way around Floyd… his heart smacked back into action causing him to grip tighter onto Spencer. He felt his body shaking its self back to life and felt Spencer's shaking in shock, but they were going to be OK. Everything was going to be great. Could it actually be better… they shared all bodily fluids…

…That is love.

o-o-o

Sam wasn't feeling the love. He wasn't feeling much at all except for blinding pain and cold. He was sitting on a stone floor in a small room. He was chained to a ring in the wall. There were two other people in this cold stone room. They were all chained. They couldn't reach each other. The chains were short… too short. There was a window high up on the wall. It had bars across it and it looked like it faced another wall. There was no sky to be seen, just grey brickwork… featureless… nothing… Sam sat on a bundle of blankets. He sat on it during the daylight and when it was night time he burrowed under it and tried to keep warm. He was wearing the grey coloured tunic thing and a bandage around his head.

One of the other guests was obviously dead. She at least stank like she was dead and hadn't moved for a few days. Sam was keeping track of the days with a tiny bit of stone. He scraped at the floor under his nest, in the dark… carefully… slowly.

Sam didn't know where he was.

Sam didn't know _who_ he was.

Sam thought he recognised a face once. The head poked its way around the door and looked in and it nodded. And yes, Sam was sure that he'd seen that face before. A fat pink face… a face which reminded him of toilets and prostitution and drugs and maybe police stations. But he didn't know why.

Sam curled up under his rags and tried to remember who he was. And tried to remember how he'd come to be here. He couldn't… the only thing he knew for sure was he shouldn't be here and someone was going to rescue him.

Good night Sam.

Sweet dreams.


	39. Chapter 39

39

Though that first small feeding brought Floyd back to where he wanted to be, it didn't completely deal with the problem. The problem of Spencer and the problem of Sam and the problem that he had to firstly filter out the drugs running through Spencer's blood and then use what was left. Not much to be honest. He lay on his back with Spencer sprawled on top of him – leaking out toxins through his pores in a sickly stinking sweat. Spencer moaned occasionally and he shuddered a few times, but Floyd could feel his heart thumping very nicely. Temptation to reach in and snatch that heart out and suck and nibble on it? – yes there was a temptation and the only thing stopping him was that by doing that would be like slaughtering the cow he needed milk from. And The Old Woman would go ballistic on his arse too. Not that he was bothered by that old crone, but it was still something best avoided… And he loved his Spencer beyond all else except himself. That was a pretty high position Spencer had elevated him self to in Floyd's mind.

Floyd was very careful. He didn't want Spencer to awaken. He would rather Spencer didn't know what he was doing and the easiest way to do that was to keep smacking him around the head, but a far nicer way was to let Spencer recover to the point of almost consciousness and then take him back down again. The first few feeds were taken from Spencer's neck. He needed the quick rush. He needed to refuel and Spencer was a healthy young man who could cope with the blood loss if it was done carefully. The following day, when the smell started… that day, Floyd used the razor blade and nicked a place on Spencer's left wrist and drank from there. Just a small nick. Just something to stop that dizzy, light headedness which was a creeping nasty warning that things needed to be topped up.

And as Floyd had wondered previously… could this become addictive? He thought maybe, but he also thought that he himself was far too amazing to get addicted to anything… other than the sex and few herbs, and alcohol, but that didn't really count. The pair of them hardly changed positions or moved for the next three days. Both of them added to the dampness of the bath… blood was mixing with urine and sweat and the flies hovered and buzzed around in the mess on the floor and occasionally landed on Floyd, who with a hand quicker than the eye could follow would snatch at the small creature and eat. There was, for now, no consideration taken for Spencer. He was asleep. You didn't feel hungry when you were sleeping, but he forced cold sweet coffee into Spencer in little bits. No point in letting his love die of dehydration. There had been a couple of dead things floating on the drink, but Spencer didn't seem to notice.

A telephone rang… it rang a lot. Floyd blocked out the sound.

The door was hammered on, again this seemed to be quite frequently and again Floyd ignored it.

He wasn't going to move from this spot in the bottom of the tub until he felt like he should; when he was… level headed – sane – clear minded and in the meantime he suckled off Spencer who he kept just at that point… never quite awake.

Floyd took the time to grope… touch, lick, probe… he moved his hands over the parts of Spencer he could reach and felt for those familiar bumps and dips in his flesh. He drank from a place just above Spencer's left nipple. It was glorious! It was fabulous! He could feel Spencer's heart pounding under his lips as the blood ran freely and he masturbated happily, ground him self against Spencer… loved him in a way no other man could possible love another man… this was special. This was the ultimate…

… and to think, if Floyd hadn't drugged Spencer to the point that he couldn't think and could hardly walk, then none of this would have happened! It proved to Floyd that a drugged Spencer is a superior Spencer… but even a superior Spencer needed to be allowed to wake up eventually…

Floyd picked lazily at maggots and slipped them into Spencer's slightly open mouth and then watched with wonder as Spencer, though not really awake – which was probably lucky for Spencer – bit down and swallowed. The only thing which could have made this experience better would have been if Sam had been there too. But if Sam had been there, none of this would have happened in the first place!

'Ha!' Floyd cried out as he pulled his floppy, sick Spencer closer. 'Everything is always for a reason.'

Floyd lost count of the number of days he stayed laying in the bottom of the tub. He managed a few times to get water from the tap and fill the mug. He didn't need it for himself, but fed the liquid slowly to Spencer… this in turn resulted in more liquid exiting Spencer and the smells increased, but when Floyd took a drink from a place just below Spencer's elbow, finally the taint of drugs had gone and the whole lot was absorbed. It filled Floyd with a sort of out of body delirium. For a while he didn't know where he was or what he was doing. He seemed to float in a nothingness which was full of vibrant colours and shooting stars. He tried to reach out and grab things to ground himself again, but everything was out of reach.

He thought he'd had a convulsion. He had certainly bitten his tongue and his head ached like a pick axe had sliced through his brain. For a short while he struggled to take a breath. The room was somehow sideways and bright red. Music played loudly… It was an old track by The Cult… She Sells Sanctuary… he sang along to it and watched his hands moving over Spencer's hair and over his face. Floyd slipped a thumb into Spencer's mouth and watched with distracted dreamy interest as Spencer closed his mouth around it and suckled much like Floyd had been doing to him. It was a very odd comforting feeling… 'The fire in your eyes, keeps me alive…' Floyd sang a little burst of tune. It was a lot more than that fire though.

Hammering at the door. More hammering. His name being called, but Floyd ignored it.

'Mr Flanders?' His name cracked through the music he'd been listening to in his head and he lay silent and still.

Were they going to take Spencer? Had someone found Sam? He held on tighter to Spencer, wrapping his arms and legs tightly around him.

'Mr Flanders! Are you here? Dr Reid? Anyone?'

Staying silent seemed like the best idea. Floyd closed his eyes. Can't see them, they can't see me. It was a blessed thing

'Mr Flanders?'

He blocked out the voice. There were people in his home. He didn't know why but they were getting closer. He could hear the footsteps on the stairs. He heard a door opening and he heard a whisper of a voice.

'Oh my dear god.'

Another voice. 'Is that both of them?'

And yet another. 'Are they alive? Someone get photos of this mess. I need to walk over it and check what we have here.'

'Christ almighty. They can't be alive. Not with that… all that… and the smell. Damn… that smell.'

The cops had been called because the two gents with the strange shop hadn't been seen, but screams and shouting had been heard. A lot of crashing around and some nosy neighbour had gone around the back when no one answered the phone of the door at the front. The kitchen window was open and the smell… well the smell and the mess was something which nosy neighbour didn't like the look of one tiny bit. It smelt like something in that small shop and house was dead.

Now the cops stood surveying a scene which could only be murder. There was so much blood it was hard to believe. It looked like someone had emptied a bucket of it over the floor and then added another for good measure. It had dripped down the slightly convex side of the tub and pooled on the floor and it had run in little crimson streams and settled along the edge of the skirting board on the other side of the room. It was curled around the pedestal of the wash basin and had reached out like fingers to the toilet and shower cubical in the corner. A blood smeared mug sat on the floor just below where Flanders' fingers where dangling… bloody fingers. Blood encrusted and sickening.

A pale face loomed over the side of the tub and looked down at the two men in the tub. 'Good god.' The pale mouth said. Floyd opened his eyes and looked up at the white slightly bloated face. He didn't talk. He just looked at the cop and twitched a quick smirk. 'One of them is alive! Call the paramedics! Someone! Quickly.'

'There's no need.' Floyd whispered. 'We are just fine. Do you mind leaving us alone?'

'Jesus, man.' The cop spoke quietly… calming. 'I'm going to check your friend here. Can you tell me your name?'

Floyd looked at shaking fingers moving towards Spencer's neck. 'I have to warn you that if you touch him I might have to kill you.' The fingers paused and then carried on. Floyd's smirk turned into a slight snarl as those fingers touched what was his. 'Don't!' The shout from Floyd made those fingers move away quickly, but they'd been there long enough to feel a weak pulse and he could see the rise and fall of Spencer's back as he took breaths.

'Sir, I don't know what happened here, but there is no need to panic. I'm here to help you. Can you tell me your name?'

It was a trick. A damned trick. They wanted him to say the wrong thing so they could take his Spence away from him. 'Flanders. This is Reid. We are not in danger.'

'We are going to wait for the paramedics to arrive before we move either of you.' The cop told him. 'Can you tell me who did this to you?'

Floyd held up one arm… the slit he'd made all those days ago was open and infected. There were things wriggling around in the wound. Maggots, and flies buzzed and droned around Floyd and Spencer. 'Self inflicted. No one did this to me.'

'And Reid?' The cop asked with narrowed suspicious eyes. It was the duty of all good cops to be suspicious of everything. 'What happened to him?'

'Helping… and failing. We don't need medics. Now fuck off.'

Floyd had no choice to at least be checked out by a medic and they did want to check up on Spencer too. He protested by refusing to let go of Spencer and making threats which honestly he couldn't carry out in the state he was in. Spencer was eventually peeled away muttering something about a cheese sandwich and moved out into the hallway where the medics could get a better look at him. Floyd though refused to leave his happy refuge, stating that there was absolutely nothing wrong with either of them and that sometimes their sex games got a bit twisted. They weren't convinced about either claim. For a start Floyd was laying in around six inches of brownish slimy muck. It stank of shit, urine, blood… and chemicals… they couldn't and wouldn't leave an injured man laying in it. He was obviously delirious with some kind of infection from the wound on his arm. How they both ended up in the tub they didn't quite know and if Floyd had his way they ever would know. They pulled Floyd forwards by placing hands under his arms and they lifted him forwards.

It was agony! The pain in Floyd's back felt like someone in hobnailed boots was trampling over him. He yelled out and cursed in flowery languages and make sucking slurping sounds as his back was separated from the mess.

'I need to know what all of that stuff is.' The cop demanded. 'Get the damned crime scene people here. This isn't natural. Something…'

'Not natural?' Another cop guffawed. 'This is the most damned un-natural thing I've ever witnessed. This defies description. What the hell was going on here? Whose blood is that?'

'Mine.' Floyd snapped between clenched teeth. 'It's my blood. Every damned drop of it.'

They carried Floyd to the hallway and lay him down a little way from Spencer who sounded like he was asking for a sandwich… odd… very odd… Maybe Spencer was going crazy after all. The drugs were mostly out of his system now so this was his own natural crazy old self. Floyd smiled towards Spencer. Damn… that twisting feeling arrived in his stomach as he listened to Spencer tell them how to make the perfect toasted cheese sandwich. Was that twisting feeling love? Might as well be… at least for now. Now they looked carefully at Floyd's arm.

'We need to take you to hospital. Get you on antibiotics and fluids. And that arm has to be treated with something. Can you remember what happened?'

Floyd lifted his arm. A couple of maggots dropped off it. 'I can pick that clean. Easy. I don't need to go have it done with tiny tweezers held by a wizened old hag with large breasts. Thank you for the offer though. I'll clean it up myself.' Again he was asked how it happened. 'Self inflicted.' Floyd told them. 'I was trying to sort of kill myself. Spencer was there though. All was safe. As I said, it's a sex game. Don't you ever play games like that? Until you feel that danger in life you've not felt the real rush. There's nothing quite like it. I needed to go and talk to…' He stopped. Telling them that he wanted to talk to The Old Woman would make no sense to them. None at all.

'You reported Trent-Saviour missing.' Another cop now asked as Floyd began the task of pulling off maggots and setting them aside. He had enough sense not to eat them in front of these chaps.

'I reported him missing.' Floyd agreed. 'Have you found him? Is he all right?' Well Floyd knew they'd not found him, but everything was just a show. It was all a game. Everything from waking up in the morning to closing your eyes at night. It was just going through the motions and playing _Let's Pretend_ because Floyd knew that you could never know for sure that what you had and what you saw was real. You just had to try and work out what was what… and this was that…

'We've not located him, but his name came up and alerted someone else.'

'The Feds.' Floyd muttered. 'I get it's that fucking David Rossi. Nosy motherfucking arsehole. He should have retired years ago. Should be running a fucking pizza parlour not running around with his cock flapping and playing at caring about what happens to people.'

'No, well yes… it was the Feds. An Agent Prentiss.'

Floyd grinned. He liked Emily. The only cunt he was even tempted to get a sniff at. She was almost as sweet as a boy. 'Is she coming to see me? Investigate me? Ask me questions? I bet she doesnt come alone though. Someone will arrive with her and if that someone also has a cunt and blond hair, then I'm going to slit my throat rather than talk to her. Don't care if she's that sugar pink fuck JJ or that kipper faced bitch Seaver… neither are going to ask me fuck all.' Floyd paused in his appraisal of the BAU and looked over at Spencer who was being lifted onto a gurney and moved slowly away. 'Hey! The fuck you doing? Bring him back! He just needs a fucking sandwich! Can't you hear him?'

A hand touched Floyd's. 'Sir… Mr Flanders, your friend is very dehydrated and confused. We are taking him for a check up. If everything is all right then he's free to go.'

'Unless you're going to press charges.' Another cop stated.

'Why would I press charges?' Floyd asked. 'The only charges I will press are against you, who have disturbed my sleep.'

'Sir, I don't know if you understand what has been going on here.' The cop looked back over at the filthy mess in the bathroom. 'We are going to check you out, clean up your arm and then if everything checks out…'

'Oh!' Floyd pushed up onto his elbows. A medic had been carefully probing Floyd's wound and now that he had his weight on his arm, the wound slid open and things crawled and popped out of it. 'You think I'm on drugs! That's a laugh. Really. That's amusing as hell… and hell isn't really all that amusing… I'd have to compare the amusement value to something else. You get your happies on in hell. I've someone waiting for me.' Floyd leered at the nurse. 'Just cover it if it's making you want to puke.'

Spencer was being asked if he could remember what happened and he could. He could remember Floyd slicing his arm and he could remember all that blood. He could even remember getting into the tub with Floyd but that was as far as his memory would go. At least as far as his memory would allow him to go. The rest had been sealed for mental health reasons. A man would go insane if the admitted that he knew his boyfriend had been drinking his blood and feeding off him for the past few days. He'd have really lost the plot. So that bit of information was kept locked away never to be thought of again…

There was no real argument to be had now. Floyd's arm was a big mess and even he had to admit that it could do with having someone look at it. He didn't protest all the time that he was allowed to be with Spencer. 'I worry about him.' Floyd stated… but considering what Floyd had been laying in for days worry wasn't really the right word. Why Spencer had stayed there laying on top of Floyd in that terrible mess wasn't known and Spencer didn't seem to want to say.

They weren't in the same room. Floyd had medical insurance which nicely covered them both. There was no problem. He also had a credit card for any extras. That didn't seem to extend to letting Spencer share his bed.

Spencer sat up in bed, his stomach rumbling madly and a drip in the back of his hand. They'd asked him if he remembered what had happened and for a split second the whole thing replayed in his head, but the door slammed shut on that again and Spencer shook his head. 'I remember Floyd was bleeding. I remember hitting my head on something and then climbing into the tub… but don't ask me why I did that. I don't remember. The next thing I know I'm being lifted out of the tub and that dreadful smell.'

'Do you have a drug habit Dr Reid?'

Spencer frowned and again shook his head. 'I've recently been told… given… I saw a doctor who wrote out a prescription but I haven't been to the drug store yet to get them. I'm not drug dependant.' Did they believe that? His drugs test had been clear which seemed to surprise them. He had no alcohol in his system and again they seemed surprised. 'How did you get all of this little nicks and cuts on you? The one on your neck is pretty nasty. You should have got someone to check that out for you.'

Spencer shrugged. 'I'm fine. Just sleepy. I've had accidents recently, falling over, tripping on things.' He shrugged again and put a hand over the cut next to his nipple and shuddered. There was something about that particular injury which made him feel very sick, but self preservation had stopped him from knowing.

'Reid.' A voice he knew. A blast from the past. He looked up and saw Emily Prentiss standing there. He didn't welcome her into his room but gave her a nod of acknowledgement. He had nothing to say to Emily. She had tried to ingratiate herself to him in the past, but there was far too much water under the bridge now. He couldn't trust her. She had deceived them all. He had mourned her. He had grieved. He had cried and raged and for what? For nothing! No, Spencer had nothing to say to Agent Prentiss. 'Is everything all right?'

'You'd not be here if it was.' Spencer told her.

'I came because Sam's name came up on a list of missing persons. Certain names…'

'Garcia has them flagged. I know. So you are here about Sam? Have you found him?'

Emily walked into the room shaking her head slowly. 'We've not found him. I've just come to take a statement.'

'And how does this have anything to do with The BAU? How is this your business?' Spencer hissed at her.

'I think you know the answer to that all ready. As long as you are all right. I have other things to do, but when I arrived I was told you were here. I was worried. You seemed delirious.'

'Mind your own business Emily.' Spencer slipped back down under the covers. It was really what she had expected. Spencer had that look of innocence and sweetness when he wanted to use it… oh and he used it! He used like makeup. Like a mask. She knew that Spencer no longer trusted her, but had she ever trusted Spencer?

She walked now to see Floyd who really was the person she wanted to talk to. Very much wanted to talk to. A quick detour to the ladies room and a spot check on her face… she brushed her hair and reapplied her lipstick and washed her hands in the hospital soap. She wanted to smell clean. She wanted to look nice. She didn't want to look like a threat. As soon as she did, Floyd would back off and refuse to talk to her. She knew Floyd better than he would like. Or did he know _her_ better than _she_ would like? Or was it just that she wanted to get to know this man of mystery better. Very much better. He still crept into her dreams. She still stood at her window smoking her Camel cigarettes and wondering if he was out there somewhere. And indeed sometimes he was. He was sitting there on his bike staring right up at that window. If there was anyone in the world or any of the worlds who could make Floyd become straight (just for the five minutes it would take) then that person would be Emily Prentiss. He had in the past snuck into her apartment and lain on the bed with her as she slept. He'd held her and run his hands over her tight stomach, but admittedly he'd never touched her breasts… He'd not let his hand wander down too far… and he'd only been there for a few minutes, but it was good. He wouldn't mind waking up in the morning to that lithe fit body.

'Floyd.' And she was standing in the doorway looking at the man. The monster. The abusive bastard who she would jump into bed with in a flash if only he would ask! 'We received a report that Sam was missing. Due to…'

'Yeah? Well come in and take a seat. I'll tell you all I know. It's not much.'

She gave a small nod. 'Do you need anything?'

'Oh Emily! Finally.' He smirked at her. 'No… no, I've got a coffee, well a hospital cup full of brown sweet stuff. Coffee is an exaggeration. Come and sit down. Let me smell you?' He paused as a strange look crossed Emily's face. 'I meant _talk to_ you… obviously. My head is a bit muddled. You must excuse me. I had an accident. Nearly bled to death. But all is good now.' He watched Emily walk over. She had on combat pants and a neat tight sleeveless top. She was a girl who knew how to dress. She know how to dress to please Floyd anyway. 'I'll tell you what happened with Sam. A while ago, Sam ran off. You know he does that right?' Emily nodded but her eyes didn't leave Floyd's. 'Well we traced him to Wyoming or rather Wyoming traced Sam to me. Spencer flew out there and picked him up. I'm not a happy boy when I have to fly… so Spence went. There was a shooting in a Burger King. Sam and Spencer both got shot…'

Emily put a hand up as though to stop Floyd. 'We know all of this. What I want to know is what happened the day Sam ran off again. And what makes you think that he ran off?'

Floyd nodded and smiled an easy smile. 'We argued, and I don't even know what about! Oh! It was about the dinner. He threw his food around the room. He was in a very pissed off mood. You know how Sam plays up… how he throws his tantrums. Anyway I told him to clean up and he just got up and left. It's not unusual for him to act out. I went looking for him a while later, but he'd gone already. I've not seen him since. I wondered…'

'You said he might have gone back to Wyoming. What had he been doing there when Spencer went to collect him? Where was he getting money from?'

'Renting out his arse and mouth. The same way he always does. You know, Emily _he's such a dirty boy_, but for some reason I adore him. I'd… well… if he was older and legal.'

Emily stood up. 'Thank you.' She pursed her lips together and glanced at the dressing on his arm. 'Spencer has to stay in an extra night. I was told you can leave.'

'I was thinking of staying. Sneaking into Spencer's room and rutting with him when no one was looking. I love to screw him when someone could walk right in and see. It adds something. Don't you think?'

Emily heard the dry swallow click at the back of her throat. 'I might need to ask you more questions.' She muttered and began to turn.

'Well you can ask all you want; over dinner maybe?'

Damn she was making him tingle. There was something about Emily which was so manly… so heavenly. It just wasn't right. He was certain that she'd been born the wrong gender. Maybe that was something to talk about over dinner. He'd pay for a gender reassignment if she didn't have the money… or just get the tits removed… an arse is an arse who gives a shit what it's attached to… except this was Emily… Dear sweet Emily Prentiss.

'That would be nice.' She smiled. 'Not very professional though. I shouldn't.'

'But you will anyway? Please? At least you know if I'm with you I'm not raping Spencer.' A sweet smile which wasn't hiding anything. Floyd was being very honest about that… and he wanted to get closer. He wanted to see her neat little teeth and watch her hands… Oh the things she could do with those hands! There was Spencer's feelings to consider here. Cheating on him with a guy was one thing. Cheating on him with a girl… No… actually what the hell was he thinking?


	40. Chapter 40

40

Floyd explained to Spencer that he was leaving the hospital. He spoke gently to his crazy boyfriend who was laying on his back with a saline drip taped to the back of his hand. He told Spencer that he'd be back for him in the morning. They could spend a couple of nights in a hotel in the town and then decide what to do next.

'I'm seriously wondering if we did the right thing coming here.' Floyd sat on the chair next to the bed. It let out a long groaning sigh as he sat and Spencer let out a long groaning sigh to match it.

'I have a dream…' Spencer didn't look at Floyd, but looked up at the ceiling. 'I don't know if it ever happened or if it's my imagination or just a dream, but my dreams never involve places next to lakes.'

'But you wanted to come here.' Floyd insisted. 'I did this for you and for Sam. This was all for you. You love it.'

Spencer now turned his head to look at Floyd; at the man who had been feeding off him. The man who had drowned Sam. He took a deep breath. 'Floyd, I made a mistake. I apologise. I shouldn't have made you think I wanted to come here. I'm from the city. I need life and noise. I appreciate that you were trying to bring me somewhere for fun and to relax, but I made a mistake. I should have asked you for something else. I know this has cost you a lot of money and I know you put a lot of effort into it, but a loft apartment in the city… somewhere with a buzz around it…'

Floyd nodded slowly. 'Well, the intention was that I could give you my undivided attention here. No distractions, but if you _want_ to go clubbing and have night life, you're going to have to share me. Actually talking about sharing, I can't stay. I'm going out to dinner.'

'Out to dinner? Very nice. You must be hungry after all those days in the tub.' If there was a hidden message or meaning there Floyd missed it.

'Sure. Did you get your sandwich? Want me to get you anything before I go?'

'I want you to tell me who you're taking out to dinner. _I_ would like to go out to dinner sometimes.'

Again the message was either missed or ignored. 'Emily… sweet Emily Prentiss… so don't get your knickers in a twist, my sweetness. You know nothing's going to happen. Unless she's got a cock hidden in her panties.' Floyd reached for Spencer's hand which did a small twitch before relaxing again. 'She's asking about Sam. I thought I'd be nice and gentlemanly and take her out for a meal. That's what women want isn't it?'

Spencer raised an eyebrow. 'How would I know what women want? I guess they want the same as a guy wants, so yes, take her out and wine and dine her. Give her some attention.' Spencer slipped his hand out from under Floyds. 'Get some clean clothes on and go somewhere and have a wash. I'd not use the bathroom at home if I was you.'

'You're jealous.' Floyd stood up and grinned. He loved a jealous Spencer. It was just so darn cute!

'I've no reason to be jealous.' Spencer snapped at Floyd, rolled over and pulled the bedding up higher. 'Just don't forget to come collect me tomorrow.'

A kiss on the exposed cheek from Floyd. 'You know I need you?' Floyd could see the medical dressing on the side of Spencer's neck and it made his mouth water and his lips and fingers tingle.

It wasn't missed on Spencer that Floyd had said _need_ and not _love_, but he also knew that he had to think clearly and remember that Emily might well be on the surface something that interested Floyd as an experiment, but that's all it would ever be.

Emily dressed up for her date with Flanders. She had on a small black dress and small black shoes and carried a small black bag. The evening was cool and so over the dress she had a fitted jacket. Emily looked good. At least Emily thought she looked good. Floyd arrived on time and stood looking her over. He looked at her legs and at the dress and then up to Emily's face. 'Nice.' He commented and was he slightly aggrieved that she was not in those slightly sweaty combat pants? He wasn't sure, but this Emily was somehow not as appealing as the one he'd seen earlier. He was polite though and didn't tell Emily that she had gone from looking like an individual and standing out in a crowd because of it, to looking like every other well paid skinny chick in America. Boring. There was no actual part of the outfit Emily had on which was not nice, but it was just…

… well… yes, boring.

They ordered food. Nothing to heavy for Emily and rare steak for Floyd. Emily let Floyd choose the wine which Floyd agreed to as he was going to be paying for the meal. 'I have slight guilt that I have left Spencer to hospital food.' Floyd muttered as he swilled the wine around in his glass.

'He wouldn't have enjoyed a meal out. He was still very weak from the event. Do you remember what happened?'

Floyd sipped at the wine and then shook his head. 'Very little.' He leaned over the table slightly. 'I'm not always the happiest of people. I suffer from deep… bottomless depressions. You might not realise that by looking at me, but I do have suicidal tendencies. It was one of those days… but the closeness of death is also a huge turn on. A massive… wow… have you ever been turned on by the pictures of bodies you look at?' He could see by the expression on her face that she'd not. 'Well you see I find death and near death an aphrodisiac. Now you're going to think that I go out killing people for sexual gratification.' He leered at Emily.

'I know you do.' Emily stated. 'We all know you do. We just don't seem to be able to keep our hands on you. For one reason after another you slither away. Now you can say that you kill because you get depressed if you wish and I don't think that any court in the land would say that you are fit for trial. We know that you are sick.' She placed a finger on the side of her head. 'We only have to look at the murder rates in your geographical area to know what you do. You carry with you a sort of plague. We know that. We just don't know how you do it. We don't know how to prove it.'

'Anyway…' Floyd said. '…sometimes the sex games and the cutting goes to far. I was depressed that Sam had gone again so soon and Spencer was there and he loves a bit of blood… _loves_ it… and things went wrong… they went too far. But that's all it was.' He ignored her statement about him being a murderer completely. It was as though she'd not spoken.

'Did you listen to anything I just said?' She asked quietly as she prodded her lettuce.

'Every word of it, but Emily if you think I'm such a danger why are you wondering if I'm going to plough you tonight?'

She placed the fork down and drummed her long fingernails on the table. 'I wasn't wondering that.'

'Everyone wonders that! Come on now. You've tarted yourself up for me. Why?'

'Because I like to look nice?'

'Because you wanted to look good for me? Why would you do that unless you had contemplated bedding me?'

'You are disgusting.' The fingers stopped drumming the table.

'But you know I'm not lying. You know. I can smell you Emily. I can smell your lust. No amount of expensive perfumery is going to cover the stink of a hot wet cunny.'

'You have some interesting chat up lines. I wonder if that is why you've never had sexual relations with a female. Do we scare you Floyd? Is that the reason you will only have sex with a woman if she's dead?' Emily hissed a whisper over to Floyd. People were beginning to look at them.

Floyd didn't reply at first. He just stared over the small table for two at Agent Prentiss and frowned. Was he scared? Hardly! 'You just don't interest me. You as a gender… not you personally. You… you, Emily – you interest me a lot. I wonder is it because you were born a boy? Are you intersexed – do you have a pair of balls Emily? Have you had a sex change? Are you a lesbian? There is something strange and fascinating about you. The way you look, the way you smell. I'm not scared of you Emily. I'm _interested_ in you… in a medical sense.'

'You can talk to me. You don't spit and curse at me.' She watched Floyd carefully as she spoke. 'You of course say things to try to disgust me and make me respond to your ideas, but you don't talk to me in the way you would have and have talked to JJ for example.'

Floyd made a cutting off gesture with his hand. 'JJ? She is a dirty whore. She's a vile specimen.'

'She likes Spencer. Now _that_ is you problem. It has nothing to do with the way I walk or talk or the shape of my jaw or the matter that you are confused about my sexuality. What it all has to do with is I'm not a threat to Spencer because I don't _like_ Spencer. JJ on the other hand was quite open with her feelings. She even went on a date with Spencer. Now _that_ is a threat. Morgan is a threat. Hotch is a threat… Rossi… no… he's not and again you treat him differently to the way you treat the others. It's nothing to do with age or appearance or gender. It's to do with threat levels.' She smiled at Floyd. 'On the reverse of this… Spencer despises me. He probably had good reason to. He mistrusts me and I mistrust him. Would I put my life in danger for him?' She shook her head. 'I hope that never happens. Really I do. Because I don't get close to Spencer, you have allowed me to get closer to you than any other member of this team. It's nothing to do with gender. It's nothing to do with sexuality. It's purely to do with Spencer. Now you can tell me I'm wrong…'

'You're wrong.' Floyd told her and smirked. 'Are you going to eat that lovely salad?'

'You know I'm right. Because you've allowed me to get closer to you I can see how you work. I can see that you abuse Spencer. You might call it love and Spencer might think it is, but it's not. Deep down you know that. You just like someone to kick around and use when you're bored.'

'Not at all. That's what Sam is for. Sam is my punch bag… Sam is my outlet for anger. Sam is…'

'Missing. Well it's not really a surprise is it?'

'I would do anything for my boys.' Floyd told her. 'I could include you in that if you'd let me. I know you want to. I know you watch for me at your window.' The smirk returned. 'I see you standing there smoking and looking and waiting. Sad… very sad Emily. All you need to do is invite me.'

'You stalk me? That's nice to know.' The drumming of the fingers started again. 'And I'm not about to invite someone I know is a serial killer into my home. I'm intrigued by you but I'm not stupid. I don't have a death wish.' She paused and looked down at her salad. Emily didn't think she'd ever felt less like eating in her life! The thought that he knew that she stood there… damn… could she report that? Should she? 'You act like you are some kind of monster who needs to be invited.'

'HA!' Floyd let out a laugh. Emily's eyes snapped back up to look at him. 'I don't need an invite Emily, but I would like one.'

She shook her head. 'No.'

'We could be friends. There doesn't have to be sex involved.'

'No.'

'Ah come on Emily. You know you'd love to be able to say that I'm your buddy.'

Again a shake of the head. 'No! I know what you are, Floyd. I know. I have a very large doubt that Sam ran off. I have a very good feeling that his disappearance has something to do with the disappearance of six local youths. I know that you know what happened to them. If what you say is correct and you really do think you love Spencer and if there is a special place in your heart for Sam and you _still_ treat them the way you do, then you are not the sort of person I want to befriend. It's nothing personal against you, Floyd. It's just that I don't want to die by your hand and becoming more than an outsider on your life will cause my sudden and painful end. I'm not ready for that. Please don't be offended. I know what you are. I just don't what to be proved right… yet.'

'More wine?' Floyd held up his glass.

'I think I should go.' Emily pushed back her chair and stood up. 'It's been an interesting evening. Thank you.'

Floyd stood and walked around the table. He took Emily's jacket and helped her into it. 'I'll see you to the car. Just let me pay the bill.'

'No… no thank you. I'm capable of finding my way back to my car.'

'A kiss goodnight?' Floyd touched the side of his own face.

'Goodnight.' Emily turned and walked away. Floyd could have called her back. He could have called her vulgar names and attempted to humiliate her, but he didn't. He watched her walk out of the doors and out of sight. She knew him better than he liked – and somehow that excited him.

.


	41. Chapter 41

41

Floyd spent the night sitting down at the lake. He sat at the place he and Sam had stripped off to get clean. There was no sign that either of them had been here. No sign that anyone had ever been here, just darkness. And whilst Floyd sat there and looked at the moon's reflection travel across the lake he thought about what to do next. He had cradled in his lap the skull from the glass display cabinet. It was a beautiful object. He had considered setting it with gem stones and pieces of precious metal, but that would only draw attention to it. Too much attention. It was too new and if Emily or someone did too much nosing around his place (and he was sure they _would_ nose around it) they would eventually want to know more about the skull. They would take it away from him. They would discover who it belonged to and might even return it, but it was Floyd's and Floyd didn't want to share this rare beauty with anyone and wouldn't have it taken. Slowly over the course of the night, Floyd removed all the teeth and stuffed them into his pocket. Then with a rock, just as the light was creeping over the top of the distant trees, Floyd smashed what was left. Did it bring a sad tear to his eye? No. The memory of the perfect shaped skull would be his forever. He could replay the way it felt in his hands. No need to cry. And he still had the teeth. He had rubbed that skull lovingly against his chest. He had run his tongue over it and felt every small lump and bump. He remembered what it had looked like before he'd prepared it and then, he laid the skull on its side on a large flat rock and using another which fitted into his fisted hand, he smashed it. Then he crushed the small bits… then he ground them to dust. A skull has an amazing strength, but Floyd knew where to hit it. He knew the best way to destroy a skull. He went to the water and scooped up handfuls of water and dampened down the area he had worked. There were small slithers and chips of bone left which he pushed into the soft ground with the toe of his boot. And then he walked slowly back to the shop where he packed up all of their belongings into the bags they'd brought with them and threw them into the back of the van. Maybe one day he would return to this place by the lake, but it had a bad vibe to it now. He wasn't sure if it was Sam who had caused it, or if it was just that nasty old smell which seemed to have swept through the whole place. Let someone else deal with it. He couldn't. He wouldn't. And he had now to go and get Spencer and hope that they would let him home… though where home was now, Floyd didn't know.

Spencer was sitting on the edge of his bed when once again Emily came in to see him. She gave him a weak smile and stayed standing by the door. She despised Spencer. There really wasn't anything about him which she could look at or think about and like. He covered up murders for Flanders. He lied. He was obviously once again taking drugs. Oh he was sick. He was as sick as Flanders, but in a different sort of way. Flanders interested her… interested her a lot. Spencer just revolted her. He had used his position as a Federal Agent to cheat and lie his way out of trouble time and time again. How could he be trusted? It wasn't possible.

'I need to ask you some questions.' Emily was wearing a black suit… she looked smart. She looked like a Fed.

Spencer glared at Emily. The hostility in those eyes was undisguised. 'Do you want to sit?' Oh he could talk sweet. He could certainly fool people with that honey coated voice.

'I don't want to sit.' Actually she didn't want to get too close to Spencer… physically… or emotionally. She needed to stay professional and that's where things were not going so well with Flanders. 'I need to know where Sam is. I need to know if you have information about Jack Hotchner. I want to know if you have anything to tell me about the missing youths from the village. I want to know what you're hiding.'

A deep frown spread over Spencer's face and slowly he shook his head. 'Sam was reported missing. If I knew where he was he'd not be missing would he?'

'I don't know, Spencer. You tell me. Why would Flanders bother to report Sam missing? He's never done so before. Why now?'

Spencer shrugged. 'Floyd has… Floyd…' Again he shrugged. 'We heard talk that a group of kids or youths went missing the same night Sam stormed off and didn't come back. I wondered, Floyd wondered if the two things were connected.' He was lying and Emily knew he was lying. Spencer used little tricks to do things like that… to make the story sound real because Spencer at one point had difficulties with lying or fabrication. Now he seemed far more relaxed about it all. But the way his hands moved. The way he accented his words. The way the moved his mouth. Oh Spencer was lying. There was just no way to prove it.

'Did Sam know the other missing people?' Emily took a step into the room now.

'I doubt it. We'd only just arrived and he was gone again.' Again that shrug… again the twitching of the fingers.

'Did Floyd do something to Sam? Did Floyd kill those missing youths?'

'Is this an official interview, Emily?' Spencer stood up and put his hands in the pockets of his beige cords.

'I'm asking you to tell me the truth.'

Spencer shook his head again and keeping his hands in his pockets sat back down again. 'As far as I'm aware, I _am_ telling the truth.'

But Emily knew better than that. Oh she knew. 'Did Floyd kill Sam?'

'I don't have to answer your questions.' Spencer snapped. He virtually spat the words at Emily.

'Did Flanders kill Jack Hotchner?' She now asked.

'How many times do I have to say that I never hurt him?' The voice spoke from behind Emily and a finger ran down her back. How long had Floyd been listening for? How long had he been standing there? She spun on him, her hand flashing towards the butt of her gun. It was a reflex action which wasn't missed on Floyd. 'Going to plug me?' Floyd asked her. 'Going to kill me because you don't like our answers?'

She did something which was so rarely done that it's worth mentioning. She placed her hand on Floyd's chest and pushed him back away from her. 'Remember how well I know you.' She hissed at him. 'You don't scare me. You can't intimidate me.'

'I'm not the one carrying a gun, missy. And that's not the way to talk to someone you went on a date with last night. I was the perfect gent! I even paid your half of the bill.' He looked down at the hand still resting on his chest. 'I've booked us into a motel, Spence. When you're ready.' He then grabbed Emily's wrist and pulled her hand away from him. 'Lesser people have…'

'…have died? For daring to touch you? I don't doubt that one minute.' She wrestled her hand out of his grasp, but she knew that if he'd wanted to snap her bones she'd not have been able to stop him. He let her wrist go because he wanted to.

'Lesser people have regretted trying to push me around. I'll not have some gender bender in a posh suit and a badge do it. I like you Emily. I like you a lot, but don't try me… don't force a hand which wants to be still.'

Emily wanted to rub at the wrist Floyd had held. It felt hot and sore and tingly. It felt as though something vile and dirty had touched it and she supposed that was true. 'The crime scene unit would like you to stick around for a while. Apparently you crossed the crime scene tapes yesterday evening.'

Floyd's mouth twitched a small smile. 'It's my home Emily. I know what happened there wasn't a crime. I'm not saying it was and I don't think that Spencer is saying it was. If I want to sit in the tub with my lover then that's my business. It's not a crime. I didn't tell Spencer to join me. That was his choice. The blood found would mostly have been mine, but Spencer cut his head. Some will be his, but not much. That really…'

'You need to talk to the crime scene unit, Flanders. Then I would like you to meet Agent Carver. We have had some shake ups in the BAU and considering how often we end up knocking on your door for information I think it's prudent that he meets you.'

o-o-o

Obviously Carver had waded through, not the folder, but the pile of boxes with information on Flanders. There was an impossible amount of stuff here. It seemed inconceivable that one man could have been questioned by the feds and the cops so many times over things which had been so obviously him and yet he was still out there walking around as though he'd never even thought of doing something wrong. It filled Carver with an odd sort of excitement to be meeting Flanders. There was so much to question him on, not necessarily to accuse him of anything but just _questions_. He had a list of them written on a pad but he didn't think he'd be using that list. Questioning had a habit of going in different directions than expected. This was going to be interesting. Carver was wearing a pair of black chinos with a pale grey shirt tucked neatly into it. There was coffee… was there something about coffee which accusers thought would get their victims talking easier? Floyd didn't know, but he sat on the chair the other side of the table and looked hard at Carver, who appeared to be in his fifties or late forties. Not an ugly man, but nothing Floyd was interested in beyond why Carver wanted to talk to him.

'I would like to say that it's nice to meet you.' Carver said. He had a folder which he placed on the table in front of him.

Floyd smirked. 'No one's forcing you. At least _I'm_ not forcing you. You are quite welcome to leave. I'd rather talk to Emily anyway. She and I have a thing going. All I have to do is give her the nod and I'll be in her panties. But then again… maybe not.' Floyd tapped the folder on the table. 'Anything interesting in there?'

Carver didn't like Flanders. There was something very dark and nasty about him. He wouldn't have had to have read the lists of suspected victims to get that feeling. It was like a thick wave of filth wafting off him. It made bile start to crawl up Carver's throat. He swallowed it back and mentally shrugged it off. 'The lab have come back with some interesting results. There are a few questions which need to be answered there, but firstly I want to get to know you a bit better, if that's all right with you?'

'You want to profile me first. Great. I know what you'll come up with in the end. They all come up with the same conclusion always have and always will, but if you wish to waste time, go for it!' Floyd picked up his coffee and blew gently over the surface.

'Where were you born?'

'Ah… Why do people always ask the most complex question first? What is it about my appearance which forces that question to be asked? You'd not believe me if I told you. Next question please.'

Carver wrote something down and started tapping his red biro on the table. 'Maybe that question keeps being asked because it's one of the questions you never give a satisfactory answer to. Do you not know?'

Floyd knew, of course Floyd knew, but he wasn't about to be carted off to the local lunatic asylum. 'The first place I know of… just outside Bova, Italy. My youth… my early years were spent travelling Europe. That is the first place I remember living. It was a travelling community. I didn't, as far as I recall, and my recall is pretty good, ever actually live in Bova. Though we did visit. Now you can write that down and keep that nice and safe and I'll never have to be asked that question again. You did good Agent Carver. Very good. Next question?'

And yes, Carver wrote it down and that immediately wiped out a whole run of question he was going to ask Floyd next. 'You are Italian?' He questioned this with some amusement. Floyd was dark haired and dark eyed, but he didn't look Italian.

'No I'm not. I'm actually an America Citizen. I earned that right you know? I spent a lot of time in England, hence the accent. I am of a very pure stock. No I'm not Italian and genetically I have nothing Italian about me. I was raised there in early childhood.'

'Who raised you? Mother and father?'

Floyd shook his head. 'These questions have been asked so many times. Are you attempting to trip me, to confuse me? I'm sure I've answered this. I was raised in a commune of people. Every one was everyone's child and parent.' Now Floyd was delving into the world of outright lies and he had to be careful. The Bova information had actually been true… not that they'd ever be able to trace that back. 'I don't know who my parents are. I believe… I have a feeling that they are or were Hungarian stock. I've never had hard and fast proof of that fact. I know that Iolanda said he was Hungarian… But I also know that Iolanda was a liar. He's dead now. We have a lot to be grateful for. You can choose your friends but not your family as they say. How true is that? Iolanda was a murdering mother fucker. But Hotchner knows all about that. Sam does too. Sam could tell you, if you can find him. Sam also spent time in the gentle loving arms of Iolanda and the family. Iolanda was the leader. The father of us all. Iolanda was a paedophile and a monster. But as I said, he's dead now. Anything else?'

'When did you arrive in The States, Mr Flanders? It says here that you don't like to fly. How did you arrive here?'

'Ship. The Truelove. A long and arduous trip. I might not like to fly, but I puke copiously on ships. Most of the trip was below decks. Not the most fun I've ever had, but better than the alternatives. Not that I think there was an alternative at the time.' Floyd gave Carver a grin. 'Next question?' He wasn't going to tell this idiot that he'd come over to this stale stinking country in 1635; sometimes Floyd's only option was fabrication of the truth.

'Do you have a date?' Carver was writing, writing, writing.

'Er a date…? Are you asking?'

Carver looked up from the note pad and nodded. 'Yes I'm asking.'

'Well I have a boyfriend, but if you don't mind double dating… sure? But you should ask Spencer first. I can't speak for him.'

The pen was slapped down on the table and the folder was closed. 'This is a serious matter, Flanders. Your flippancy isn't appreciated.

'Your line of questioning isn't either. What is it you really want to know? You want me to admit that I eat people and fuck corpses? Is that what you want? Or is there another reason you're asking me things which have no relevance to anything. Does it matter which province in Italy I was living in? Does it matter what the name of the ship was I came over here on? Really… Carver… you should talk to Emily, to Hotchner, to Morgan and maybe even to Garcia. All of them will give you more information about me than I'll ever be able to tell you. They know everything. Hotchner especially knows the truth. He knows what I am… that's what you're after isn't it? You want to know _what_ I am. Did DNA come back with some strange results? I'm thinking it probably did.'

Spencer was questioned too… but by Emily. The fact that there was no love lost between the pair of them made the chat easier in some ways.

'Do you know where Sam is?'

'I don't. I don't know where Sam is.' Spencer had his arms crossed tightly over his chest. He was staring Emily in the eyes. There seemed to be no dishonesty, at least for now.

'Do you know what happened to the missing youths?'

'Emily, I know nothing. I don't know who is missing. I don't know why and I have no idea where they are. I really don't know a thing. I know you are also going to ask me about Jack and again I know nothing. I'm not hiding anything. I'm not lying to you… I really have no information I can give you. I _can_ tell you that as far as I am aware Floyd isn't the sort who goes after children. Yes he has _interesting_ habits and loves, but that doesn't involve children. Do you really think I would stay with someone who did that?'

Emily did what Spencer had done earlier. 'I don't know. Reid. You tell me. You seem to have no qualms about some of the horrific things he's been accused of. You know… you know that he's done a lot of those things. You have covered up for him. You've washed up the blood. You've destroyed evidence. That makes you an accessory. It makes you as bad as him.'

Spencer pinched at his skin on his ribs through the light fabric of his shirt. He didn't feel well. He felt positively dreadful. His head was pounding, his heart was hammering… he wanted out of here. He needed to get out of here. Quickly. Real soon… before he started to puke.

'I don't know what you're going on about.' Spencer began the slow rocking in the chair. 'I don't feel too good. I'm going to be sick. I think I should have stayed in hospital for longer.'

Emily nodded. Spencer looked like shit warmed up. He was sweaty and had suddenly gone so pale that she thought Reid was going to pass out. She could see that he was either pinching or scratching at himself. She could see that rocking motion… The beads of sweat popping up on his upper lip and his brow almost looked like someone had crept in and hosed him down.

'Take a few minutes.' Emily gave Spencer a curious look. 'I'll get you a drink of water. Then we will continue.'

'Prentiss? I'm going to… I think…' He didn't get any further… He slumped forwards over the table, passing out and puking at the same time. A lovely mess! A wonderful mess.

'Crap.' Emily hissed.

The shop and the small apartment which came with it was searched. Just what they were searching for they didn't know. They thought maybe bodies under the creaking floorboards or behind the walls, but if there was something there which shouldn't have been it was well hidden. It was noted though that the skull which had been on display was no longer there and that caused raised eyebrows. It had been photographed but it hadn't been removed by anyone. There was no crime. There was nothing connecting either Floyd or Spencer with anything. They took away a few samples of dirt to see exactly what it was, but that really was all there was available.

Though Emily didn't want to think that Floyd had killed Sam and hidden his body somewhere, it frustrated her that this small shop selling fake charms seemed to be exactly that. It might have been slightly dodgy, but there were no signs or promises of anything at all. The only thing which there had been was that skull. That was the only thing apart from the clothing (it seemed) that Floyd had removed.

'He's slipped the noose again.' Prentiss muttered as she stood in the shop doorway. 'But I'm going to ask him where that skull has gone and where he got it from in the first place… but that's…' She threw her hands up in defeat. 'Until we locate Sam we've got nothing and there's nothing here to suggest foul play with the boy. I just don't know how he does this.'

Carver stood just inside the doorway, looking around at the odd assortment of things. 'Maybe he's not done anything? Maybe Sam has really run away and we'll find him safe and well somewhere, but he'd not here. There's no trace of anything. Even Flanders couldn't kill seven people and manage to hide the remains. It's not possible. We would have found something, but apart from a bit of blood in that old tunnel… which seemed to be animal blood and not human… I think we're looking at this from the wrong angle. I don't think Flanders has anything to do with this. The missing, apart from Sam were into some sort of cult. They thought that they were vampire hunters. There's nothing to suggest that they even knew Flanders or Trent. Nothing. I think you're maybe too close to be able to see beyond.'

Emily wasn't going to stand here and argue. She knew that Flanders knew what had happened. She suspected that Spencer knew too, but with not a jot of evidence there was nothing. Nothing. She walked quickly away from the shop and down to the car. She wanted to punch something and kick things around. Again… he'd done it again and she might wish he'd come to her and hold her. And she might wish that she could taste him and have him taste her, but… but… but that wasn't clouding her judgement. She could have had him. She could have! After that meal she could have… but she turned him down, turned him away. Next time she might just surprise him. She pulled a pack of Camels out of her bag and lit up. Smoking on duty? Not the best of things to do, but it was that or gouge Carver's eyes out of his sockets.

'So shall I discuss the skull with him?' Carver was at her side like a damned moronic dog.

'Yes… yes, you do that Carver. I'm going back to the motel. Call me if you get any information out of him, but I can tell you now that he'll tell you nothing.' She slipped into the car and slammed the door closed.


	42. Chapter 42

42

So again it was Carver asking the questions and Floyd sitting there looking oh so very bored. Spencer was laying down somewhere, recovering form the smack he'd given himself on the head. Everything was messed up and Floyd knew that.

'I know I'm a fuck up.' Floyd told Carver as soon as the man entered the room. 'I know I fuck up, but you've got me all wrong. Can I have more coffee and maybe a smoke?'

Smoking wasn't strictly allowed but Carver thought that the more comfortable Flanders was then the more he'd talk. He was given a pack of twenty Pall Mall, a lighter, a small metal ash tray, a mug of sweet hot coffee, a donut, a tuna and mayo sandwich and he was asked about the shop. What had his intentions been? Why did he choose this back woods village for such a venture? Where did he get his stock from? A small specimen bag was placed on the table. It contained dirt. Another contained dried mushrooms. Another some twigs and bits of grass. Carver wanted to know exactly what all of this stuff was.

Floyd nibbled on the sandwich. Not the biggest fan of tuna and so it did only get nibbled. 'That's earth from the coffin of a er… a…' he gave the bag a prodding… 'Werewolf.' Floyd smiled but Carver was looking at Floyd and waiting for more. 'OK! It's just dirt. I collected it from the planter outside my home back… well back home. It's just planter compost stuff. No monsters are connected to it. Those are mushrooms. They are called… actually I don't know what you called them, but I call them Rainbows. That's on account of the hallucinogenic qualities. It's not illegal and can't harm you. Just gives you… well pretty colours and shit. It's great stuff to relax to when listening to someone reading to you. That grass is called Fire Heart Smoke. Again that's what I call it. It's what my people call it but I don't know the real name. You can smoke it dried or green. It has slightly different effects but it's good shit… you see dried of not the potency doesn't change, it just changes what happens. The type of vision. I see… I see Angels and Demons… I do. That's the god's honest truth. Look at my knees. You want to see my knees? They are the knees of a pious man, Carver. They are the knees of a saint. I pray… to the Angels and to the Demons I pray and I'm on my knees when I do that. Now you might think it's my imagination, but what if it's real? What if it opens a doorway between the dimensions or worlds… what if I really do speak to Angels? How would that make you feel? I know you don't like me, Carver, but if you thought that I had the ear of the Angels… would that make a difference to you and your perception of me?'

'I would have to agree that I think you are delusional.'

'Agree? I see. My psychological report says that I'm delusional?'

'Many mental illnesses are brought on by excessive drug usage.'

'I don't use it to excess though. And I'm not delusional. Those little sticks are a good filler. They pull apart into strings. I can use them as a replacement for tobacco if there is none. That isn't the full collection though and that's just for personal use and nothing on that there table is illegal. I would need some special berries and tree bark to make the really good shit. Still, if you want to arrest me for smoking things I can pick up in any local woodland then go ahead… try it. If I was selling that shit then I'd understand if maybe you were pissed at me, but that's just my personal stash. What else did you want to know… much as I love prison cuisine, I want to go… I want Spencer.' Floyd rested his elbows on the table. 'I want to make slow and sweet love to him… lick him in all those special places.'

'Tell me about the skull. We took photos of it but never actually got to inspect it closely.'

If there had been a smug look on Floyd's face, it wasn't there now. His elbows left the table and he lit up one of the Pall Mall, snapping off the filter and flicking it over towards Carver. 'It was purchased from someone.'

'The owner?' Carver enquired.

'Are you asking if paid someone to hand over their head to me?'

'Did you?' Carver seemed to be in possession of Floyd's smug smile.

'Do I look like an idiot to you Agent Carver?'

'You look like a man who thinks he is above the law. You look like a drug dependant alcoholic. You look like a bully and an abuser, but no, you don't look like an idiot. You look and act like an overbearing asshole with delusions of some kind of godhood, Mr Flanders.'

Floyd again rested his elbows on the table and placed the palm of his hands together, almost as though in prayer. 'You're not a very nice man are you Agent Carver. I expect you want to know where the skull is now? Well honestly, really… I got rid of it. I thought it was going to bring trouble, but it looks as though I wasn't fast enough. It was a composite, or so I was informed. A mash up of a couple of old skulls which are not really that hard to come across. I purchased it as a shock value piece. It wasn't for sale. Not that it matters. I sold nothing during the one afternoon I managed to get the store open for. It didn't work out. Spencer isn't happy here. Sam obviously hated it and to be honest, Carver… I'm bored and I'm tired. I want my boys to be able to entertain themselves sometimes and not be looking at me to keep them amused. They are a couple of… a couple of guys who demand a lot of attention.' So now Carver wanted to know what Floyd had actually done with the skull and Floyd told him exactly what he did. Almost exactly what he did… Floyd lied about what he did… he didn't mention that he'd removed the teeth… nor did he mention that he'd crushed it. He didn't say that he'd hugged it all night and that he'd licked it lovingly… but he did say he tossed it into the lake. 'Get some divers out. I'm sure they'll eventually find it. I'll even help… I'll point out the general location.' The idea of those wet chaps in skin tight suits appealed a bit, but it seemed Carver and the team didn't want Floyd's help.

'You may leave.' Carver stood. 'Reid is ready to go to. Have a safe trip back home. Which is a good point, Flanders. Home… an address would be nice.'

'And when I have one, I'll let you know.' Floyd saluted the Agent and walked towards the door. 'He placed his hand on the handle and spoke without turning around. 'I don't like you Carver.' If that was a threat Carver didn't know. Floyd was through that door at a speed which almost defied possibility and was gone.

o-o-o

Home for now was the small house with the wrap around porch. It felt like they'd been away for months, but nothing seemed to have changed except that the grass had grown and some of the flowers had died. It didn't feel like home though, at least not for Spencer. It felt as though they'd tumbled right back to the mire they'd left and now here they were again, Floyd pacing and irritable and Spencer sitting staring at a place on the wall, too scared to say anything or suggest anything… too scared to move… too lethargic to move.

Floyd had said that he wanted to find them the perfect place to live. He had told Spencer that he thought this small comfortable place was that perfection. Floyd nagged Spencer to show him what it was that was so wrong with this house. What _was_ it he didn't like, and eventually Spencer had taken Floyd by the hand and led him out onto the rear porch and they had stood there for over an hour just looking at the wild flowers growing up through the un-mowed grass. Spencer had meant to show Floyd how this was a place where children should be running in the grass and playing on the swing. He had meant to show Floyd that this was a lovely place but just not suited to them, but Floyd had completely miss understood and thought that Spencer was trying to tell Floyd to tidy up the yard. Floyd liked the long grass. He loved the smell of rain in the early evening, when the windows and doors were open and the smells of the wet land wafted through the house.

'But if you don't like it, then I'll find something else.' Floyd had spoken quietly.

And now because of that, Spencer felt as though he'd thrown a gift back in Floyd's face. He knew that Floyd just wanted something nice. He wanted something _normal_… but _that_ wasn't Floyd. Spencer wanted to suggest that he was allowed to return to his own apartment. Return alone. Return to how it used to be. Floyd living somewhere else and just coming _home_ when he needed or wanted company. Their relationship had seemed more relaxed then. Floyd had seemed to trusted Spencer then. Spencer looked over at Floyd who was now sitting at the piano staring at the keys. Did he miss Sam? Was that the problem now? Was he worried about Sam? Could he ask Floyd if that was part of the problem? No… because Spencer had to pretend that there _was_ no problem. He had to sit and be quiet and let his man think.

'I just feel that Vegas has too many bad vibes.' Floyd suddenly said. 'It's too… too barren. Too empty and yes, I know it is your home and I know that it's what you're familiar with, but Babes, I fucking hate Vegas. I hate that smell of hot fibreglass and plastic. I hate the sound of the place and the look of it. The fakery and the wrongness.'

Spencer said nothing at first. He'd never said that he wanted desperately to go back to Vegas. He loved the city him self, but partnerships were all about compromise and if Floyd really didn't want to be there then Spencer understood. 'OK.' That was all he could think of saying. Finding them a home had always been Floyd's territory. He'd failed every time, but you had to give him credit for trying. He was like a dog with a bone when it came to finding them the perfect place. 'Floyd, we don't need a mansion. We don't need some huge fancy place behind gates. We don't need to have all of that.'

'So a gutter would do you? Is that what you're saying?' He slammed his hands down on the piano keys and made a jolly fine sound. The sudden noise made Spencer jump and that made Floyd smirk. 'Right.. not a gutter? What then!'

'I like my apartment.' Spencer whispered and then turned so that the didn't have to see the look of contempt on Floyd's face.

And there was a look on Floyd's face as if he'd just got a waft of something very nasty. 'It had one bedroom, Spencer.'

That was all the explanation that Floyd gave Spencer and really it was all that was needed. 'Then maybe we can find a similar place but slightly bigger? You're thinking of Sam?'

Again the smack down on the piano and this time a nasty discordant noise echoed through the house. 'Of course I'm thinking of Sam! Why wouldn't I think of him? You selfish fuck!' Floyd stood and with his hands rammed down into his pockets he began to pace again. It had slipped his mind that he'd taken Sam into the lake and drowned him. He'd conveniently dismissed all of that mess. He had planted the idea in his head that Sam had run off and that's the story he had running through his mind and it was going to be a bit of a shock when he was reminded of what he'd actually done. If anyone dared remind him.

Spencer licked his lips and looked at the empty fireplace. 'What about a nice modern loft apartment. Maybe in New York?' Spencer almost whispered the words, afraid that Floyd would object to Spencer having an idea.

'Ah… one with a… a… thing.' Floyd flung his arms wide. 'Terrace.' He added. 'A two bed place… lots of light and… and not too big. Not because I can't afford it. Spencer are you aware of how many properties I've purchased? How many I still own? I think I have somewhere in nearly every major city in America.' He snorted out a laugh. 'More than one in some. It's a fucking joke. Would be easier to rent, but I don't like the idea that something isn't mine.'

Spencer understood the way Floyd's mind worked perfectly. Of course he wanted people to know it was _his_. It was just part of Floyd greedy possessive side. 'You wont have the no pets and no smoking restrictions if it's your own place.' Spencer still didn't look at Floyd. 'It makes things easier.'

'Blood.' Floyd muttered and walked to behind the couch Spencer was sitting on. He placed a hand on the top of his boy's head. 'Blood is such a bitch to get out of the soft furnishings. I'd rather own my own shit.' He thumbed the top of Spencer's ear and then with a sigh moved back out of the way. 'So you think East Coast rather than West? You don't want to go to say… Wyoming?'

'I don't want to go to Wyoming. I've been there recently and it's not my kind of place. It's not Sam's either. He's not there, Floyd.' The hand landed on the top of Spencer's head again. Harder this time. Much harder. It was more of a punch than a caress, but Spencer took it and accepted it and noted what it was he'd said. 'New York would be good. There's a lot of night life there. A lot of history. It's not a bright garish place like Vegas and it snows and gets pretty cold in the winter. You'd like living there.'

'I'd like living there.' Floyd muttered. 'If that's what you'd like, then that's what I shall start to look for. A penthouse loft with a terrace, two beds and a wet room?'

'Well that sounds like all the important things. Who the hell needs a kitchen when we can barbeque on the terrace?' The hand was still there on the top of his head, but now the fingers were twisting through his hair and Floyd's breathing had become harder.

'Do you love me, Spencer?' Floyd had leaned over the back of the couch and had spoken into Spencer's ear.

'You know the answer to that. I shouldn't have to keep telling you.'

'I get insecure.' Floyd licked Spencer's ear. 'So… do you love me, Spencer? What will you do to prove how much you love me?'

Spencer turned to face Floyd and kissed him gently on the lips. 'Once… a while back I thought I would do anything for you. Really I thought that. I had this madness in my head… and I thought… I thought that I might just do anything you asked me to do, because I thought that you'd never ask me to do something which would cause me harm.'

'And now? You've changed your mind?' Floyd kissed Spencer's nose.

'Completely changed it. I don't think that any more. I _know_ it. If you asked me to cut my own throat I'd do it. If you asked me to kill for you, I would do it. I know you'd only ask if there was a good reason for it. So, yes, I think I love you… or maybe you've used some of your pure Angelic charm on me and enchanted me.'

'My little puppet.' Floyd smiled and flipped over the couch to sit next to Spencer. 'Once my ward, then my dog, maybe once just someone to hang out with on a wet evening, and now… now my perfect little puppet. Will you help me find Sam?'

'Of course. If you want me to. I don't want to get in the way.' Spencer snuggled happily into Floyd.

'Will you stand by me against Hotchner when they come after me again, because I don't think that mess is over.'

'I will.'

'Do you love me more than you love life?' Floyd pried. Now that he knew Spencer loved him… how much? How far _would_ he go?

'I said. I told you. I would kill myself – again – if you asked. Haven't I done that before? Haven't I all ready proven myself in that?'

Floyd nodded and pulled Spencer closer. 'I guess. But would you let me watch?'

'Now you're getting gross.' Spencer sighed, but a touch of fear was there in his voice too. Surely Floyd wasn't going to ask him to do that! Surely not.

'I can get far grosser than that, but it will require that you go shower and then hop into bed. I'll be up there in ten minutes. I want you on your back and ready.'

Spencer raised an eyebrow. 'You have such a unique form or foreplay. I think that's why I love you so much.'

'You should know; you've had enough in backrooms and alleyways… slut. Get ready. I'm going to make you scream… and then beg for more.'

'How?' Spencer stood and started to walk back away from Floyd. Out of slapping range. 'You been learning something new? Something I'll actually enjoy?' Then he ran… thumping up the stairs to the bathroom. Floyd stood too, poured a drink and took from a small drawer a tiny twist of cellophane. He sat back down and snorted something good, threw back the drink… and with his blood racing and the buzz tingling through him he raced up the stairs after his (fuck) lover… boyfriend (whore) (ho) (arse)…

The screams made the dog next door bark… a baby awoke somewhere… A new star lit up the night sky. And something dark crept over their back lawn and sat howling…


	43. Chapter 43

43

Spencer woke up with the sound of birds singing out side the bedroom window. He was alone and the bed beside him was cold. He ran a hand over the empty space and sighed. The previous night had been – he tried to arrange his thoughts and put the proper emotions in place – truth was that the experience had been horrific and yet something about it had been such a turn on that it made his body tingle all over just thinking about it. He ran slightly shaking fingers over his chest and the side of his neck. The wounds he'd received somehow when in the bathtub were open and raw again and though he knew what Floyd had done and even knew what he'd agreed to he pushed it to the back of his mind and locked it away. That didn't stop him from touching those places where scabs were already forming nicely. It didn't stop his body from trembling slightly. He rolled onto his side and looked at where Floyd had been and pulled Floyd's pillow towards him, breathing in the rough scent left behind. He felt drained. He felt utterly exhausted. Floyd had promised something different and Floyd had certainly done that.

Spencer swallowed. His throat was sore. His head ached. He wanted to go back to sleep, but he needed to get up and look for Floyd. There was no smell of coffee and toast or of eggs and bacon. There were no sounds other than the sounds of the birds and maybe the small whimpering sounds he was him self making.

He found Floyd sitting on the edge of the back porch, again staring over the long grass, but things had changed since they had last sat here. There was an obvious trail through the grass, plants had been ripped up, much like Floyd had done before. The swing had been ripped down from the tree branch and the rope and wood throw to the side. The shed door was swinging open and closed and open in the small hardly noticeable breeze. Floyd had had a tantrum by the looks of it, but why? Floyd was sitting wearing an old pair of jeans and a Tshirt. He had nothing on his feet and he was leaning forwards with his head resting in his hands. A pile of cheroot butts and an empty bottle of wine were on the boards next to him. Something was very wrong and for a while Spencer just stood looking at Floyd slightly curved back and the movement of his shoulders as he breathed. Slowly Spencer moved to join him. He sat the other side of the wine bottle and touched Floyd gently on the knee.

'What's going on?' He spoke quietly.

Floyd lifted his head, placed a hand over Spencer's and gestured with his hand over the grass. 'What do _you_ think?'

'You broke the swing.' Spencer pointed out.

This time Floyd turned his head to look at Spencer. He frowned deeply and shook his head. 'Nope. Not me.' Now he stood, grasping Spencer's hand in his and pulled him down the steps and onto the grass. 'This wasn't me. I came down earlier to make coffee… found a bottle of wine instead. Came out here to have a small drink… and this.' They walked slowly down the trail of crushed flowers and grass. 'Can you smell that?'

Spencer could only smell the stink of whatever it had been Floyd had smoked. It blocked out all other scents. 'No… you have a much better sense of smell than I do. You're going to have to tell me.'

Floyd pulled Spencer down into a crouch, still holding his had tightly he pulled up some of the crushed grass and held it out for Spencer. 'Smell it. What do you smell.' He tipped it into Spencer's free hand and then rested back on his heels and waited. He wasn't looking at Spencer. He was looking at that shed door swinging back and forth… creaking open, closing in silence.

Spencer put the broken grass to his nose. He'd expected that familiar smell of freshly mown grass, but that's not what he could smell here. He didn't know _what_ it was he could smell? An animal? Some kind of scent put there by a night prowling creature. 'I have no idea what that smell is.' Spencer blew the blades of grass away. 'It somehow doesn't smell right though. What caused that?'

Floyd looked now at Spencer and raised an eyebrow at him. 'You really don't know? Come…' He stood again and half dragged Spencer down to the shed. 'Go in and look.'

Oh well that really wasn't something Spencer wanted to do. Really… he would very much like to go back to bed now. Thank you. He turned slightly as though to walk away… 'Floyd, I'm not going in there.' But his hand was still being held. Floyd wasn't going to let him go yet.

'Just take a look. It can't hurt you. I promise you that much.'

'I don't feel well. I feel… I feel…'

'Drained?' Floyd smirked slightly. 'Go and fucking look! Tell me what you think.'

The shed had a pile of rags pushed to the back corner. There was a lawnmower with its electric cable wrapped around the handles and a couple of gardening tools… but that wasn't what Floyd wanted Spencer to look for. There was blood splashed up the walls, and bones scattered around where the rags in the corner were… and a smell… a smell not unlike the one from the grass, but now it was stronger. Strong enough to make Spencer cough and back out with his eyes watering. 'What in the name of? Has an animal been living here?'

Floyd kicked the shed door shut and placed the small latch over it to stop it from swinging open again. 'Sure.' Floyd prodded the shed keyhole. There was no key in it. That was kept on a little hook in the kitchen. 'An animal who can pick locks.'

'What sort of… wait… you're saying something picked the lock? Are you sure? Could it have been left unlocked?'

Floyd let go of Spencer's hand now and walked in long strides back towards the house. 'Do I look like someone who doesn't lock a fucking shed door? Yes the lock was picked.' He stomped up the steps and disappeared through the kitchen door.

Spencer wanted to run, but he felt horribly shaky and weak. He walked slowly back across the lawn and found Floyd with yet another bottle of drink. 'What has been in the shed?' Spencer asked as he carefully took the bottle from Floyd. 'And it's too early… have coffee?'

The bottle disappeared back into Floyd's hand. 'Don't think that just because I share my seed with you that I will allow you to tell me when and I can and cannot drink. I wont get drunk. You know I wont. Fucking can't if I wanted to. First this. Sit down.' He pushed Spencer roughly back and down onto one of the wooden kitchen chairs. 'Sit and don't move. Just don't move.'

'You are already drunk.' Spencer pointed out. 'You've been sitting out there staring at the grass and doing things without even knowing what you're doing… what the hell! Put the knife down Floyd. Just put the knife down. I'm listening. OK you're not drunk. Drink the other bottle… really… Damn! Floyd! Stop it! What the hell are you doing?' He wanted to leap from the chair and stop this madness. He thought initially that Floyd was going to stab him, tear him open, slice the knife over his throat, but it was Floyd's own wrist which had just been sliced into! What was wrong with him! Why this sudden death wish! 'NO!' Spencer managed one word before that bleeding wrist was slapped across Spencer's mouth.

'Drink. You're weak. I took too much.'

He could taste the blood. Floyd had his fist clenched and was easing it and clenching it in rhythm to the beat of his heart. Spencer wanted to puke. He needed to stop this… whatever this was, but the fingers twisting through Spencer's hair were keeping him in place. If he tried to move too suddenly to escape this foul game then Floyd could with just a twitch of a wrist snap his neck. Spencer knew it.

'Suckle.' Floyd sighed. 'Drink.'

Blood ran out of Floyd and over Spencer's lips… he could feel it running down his chin and dripping off onto his lap. He could also feel one of his hands wrapping around that bleeding wrist and he could feel that he wasn't trying to pull it away now, but was holding it there in place. What was this crap? What had Floyd done? Spencer didn't know, but again it was making him tingle all over. It was doing things to his body and his nerves which this act really shouldn't be doing.

Monsters did this.

'Enough.' Floyd pulled his wrist back and leaned in. A long deep passionate kiss. He licked and ran his tongue over Spencer's chin, over the side of his neck, up to the corner of his mouth. Floyd sat on Spencer's lap, facing him, grinding against him, mouth to mouth. When Floyd pulled back after a lip crushing dirty foul passionate kiss, he spoke softly. 'If only I tasted as lovely as you do… you'd be hooked.'

Spencer wanted to tell Floyd that his blood was wonderful, but that would leave the door too wide open. He couldn't. Even if he wanted to please Floyd that was one thing he couldn't say. He wiped the back of his hand over his mouth and watched Floyd running his wrist under the cold water. 'That was…'

'Beautiful.' Floyd said. 'It was just so… fucking beautiful. Just when I think I've taken all I can from you and offered all I have, something else comes along. Beyond this I don't know – what else it there? Eating each other I guess.' Floyd turned to look at Spencer who was blood smeared and pale. 'Go shower. As for what has been in the shed… Sam? That's my guess.'

'Sam? How can it be Sam? Has something sent him back?'

'From Wyoming… maybe he never made it that far. Why doesn't he just come on home?' Floyd picked up the wine bottle again. 'Go clean up Babes, when you're back I'll have food on the table for us and then we'll start searching for this apartment you're lusting after.'

Spencer looked at the mad man standing in his kitchen. He stood slowly. No sudden moves allowed when Floyd was acting like this. Though there was comfort that Spencer knew that he was going to get hurt. It wouldn't be a shock and being hurt wasn't the problem here was it? No… it was this oddness with the blood… the denial over Sam… it was the alcohol, the cheroots – which Floyd _had_ cut back on, but was now smoking so heavily that Spencer hardly ever saw him without one between his lips… and then of course there was everything else. He left Floyd standing there with the drink and in a cloud of smoke and walked on slightly unsteady legs up the stairs.

'Externally it is a work of art, internally it is beautiful.' Floyd was looking closely at Spencer as he said this. They were sitting side by side on the floor with the laptop open in front of them on the coffee table. 'What more could a man want?'

Spencer looked at the pictures on the screen and then back at Floyd. 'It's expensive.'

'No… cheap. A cheap whore, but that's what makes you so beautiful.' Floyd grinned and looked back at the screen. 'I've told you that price isn't a problem. It's what you look at and what you like that is important. If you like this I'll give them a call and get a deposit down on it. We can go see it as soon as we can get there.'

It felt too rushed to Spencer. It was once again going to be a massive mistake. 'It just looks, well… it's just… so… Floyd, I don't know if we would be welcomed.'

'You think they have a vetting process?' Floyd clicked on the link for contact details. 'We should ask, but honestly Spence, you scrub up well, you've been a Fed. What's not to like?'

Spencer shrugged. 'I wasn't thinking about me.' And he really hadn't. Would the sort of people who lived in multi million dollar apartments overlooking central park really want Floyd there, dripping blood and causing trouble and trouble would arrive. There was no doubt about that. Trouble always arrives… and each time they tried to move and settle trouble seemed to arrive quicker. It took less than a day last time. They'd not even get their feet in the door in a place like this.

'Rich fucks live in places like this.'

'Exactly. They've worked hard and paid out a load of money for a place like that… why would they be happy letting me move in there. Why would they put up with your…' He paused, readied himself for a slap, '…your smell.'

'My smell? They'll get used to it. Really sweetness, this is perfect. There's three bedrooms, the wet room, a den, a huge fucker of a day room, a solar…'

'Solar?'

'A withdrawing room… a private place for the two of us. A place that the maid wont come to.'

'A maid? Floyd, you're getting silly now. We don't need a maid.'

Floyd smirked. 'Don't need one, but it would be nice don't you think? I was wondering if we should get a cat. All gay couples have a cat. It's the expected thing. You don't think they'll turn us down because I like to stick my dick up your arse do you?'

Spencer shook his head, nodded, shrugged and then laughed. 'Floyd, if you tell them that then no, they'll not want us there. No more than if a man said he liked to stick his dick in his wife's vagina. It's just not necessary. They don't have to know our orientation. They'll guess soon enough. And we don't call them Solars or withdrawing rooms… lounge or den would be good enough.'

'Or a sexy little romping room.'

'Yes, but not a solar.'

'Fine! Wise arse. There's a wet room though. Am I allowed to call it that? Very easy to clean. Now we need to consider a job. I might even try to get one myself. This is solely because I don't want us to get bored. This is the main problem… I get so fucking bored, but then again I adore being there for you when you get home from work. How about… how about private security?'

'No.' Spencer was pretty sure about that. 'How about I take time to consider where I want to work and what I want to do. I like books. I like libraries… what about the uni? I could…'

The muscle on Floyd's eye was twitching, so Spencer shut up. 'First you correct my terminology for a room and then you tell me _no_? What was it in your eggs that made you think you could firstly humiliate me and then tell me that my job choice for you is wrong?' Floyd slammed down the lid of the laptop. 'I'm going out. I might be back tonight and I might not be. Better hope that place isn't sold before I get back, because Spencer, you've pissed me off now.'

Spencer washed dishes. He put some laundry on. He picked at the scab on his neck and then stuck a dressing on it. He then looked again at the apartment Floyd had said he would buy. The price was insane. Normal people didn't buy places like this. They just didn't. Which would mean that Spencer had to admit that he and Floyd were abnormal. He couldn't go and get a job in a library or a book shop. People would question his motives if he did that. He'd have to do something else… but he had no idea what. Security guard was so far down his list of things he wanted to do that it didn't even exist. He locked the doors. He double checked that the windows were locked. He checked the doors again and then got out his old roll of red tape and taped each lock as he went around. It was that or spend the night pacing and checking. He set the alarm. He disabled it and reset it and checked that all doors and windows had red tape on the locks. He got himself a beer from the fridge and sat on the couch listening to a play on the radio. He'd eaten some warmed up unknown thing out of the freezer and eaten it alone. Temptation to go looking for Floyd was there, but the temptation to go looking was not as strong as the fear of going out there in the first place.

At some point he must have dozed off, because it was dark when he opened his eyes. The radio was playing a low hiss of white noise and the clock told him that it was two in the morning. He stretched, turned on the side lamp and then went around the room turning on all the lights and closing all of the curtains. Room to room… light switch to curtains… and back again. He wasn't happy until every light was on and all the outside shadows had been secured outside. His sore neck itched, as did the place next to his nipple. Spencer thought of going to bed, but didn't. He took a few of the pills which Floyd told him would help him sleep and with a mouthful of lager he sat back down on the couch and closed his eyes.

He dozed again and this time was woken up by someone hammering on the front door. Spencer leapt to his feet and walked quickly out into the hallway… He stood staring at the door. That wasn't someone just knocking. That was someone trying to get in… and something told Spencer that it wasn't Floyd. Floyd wouldn't do that. Floyd would just magically unlock the doors and walk in… he would bypass the alarms and you'd not even know he was in your home until it was too late, no… that wasn't Floyd.

Feet in tar… at least that's how it felt as Spencer crossed the parquet flooring to the door which was rattling in the frame now. He thought he should have got his gun. He should have got a knife… anything… something… He reached out and touched the shaking wooden door and the hammering stopped. It was as though Spencer had broken a circuit or something and in responding had broken it.

'A nightmare brought on by the pills.' Spencer checked that the red tape was in place and walked slowly back to the lounge… the solar! The thought made Spencer grin. It wasn't often, but sometimes Floyd would say something crazy like that. As though his mind slipped back a few centuries. He settled again on the couch and was about to let himself drift off again when the back door started rattling. It wasn't like the front. It didn't sound like someone was kicking or punching it… it was more like the wind was making it rattle in the frame. Spencer didn't move. He couldn't move. He sat and listened to wood splintering and glass shattering. He could feel that his body was trembling all over. He could feel hot wet tears of panic coming down his face… Another shattering. It sounded like a window blowing in… or out… The lamps flickered… the phone rang once, twice and then stopped. Something buzzed somewhere, the sound was like a wasp or hornet caught inside a plastic bag; a very angry sound and not one you wanted to investigate if you didn't want to get stung. Spencer didn't move. He couldn't move if he'd wanted to.

Again the lights flashed on and off, not all together, but seemingly in a random pattern. A sound of a beating of wings and Spencer finally moved one hand to the back of his neck. When he looked at his fingers there was blood.

'Get away from me!' Spencer called out. His voice wobbled in fear, his stomach tightened, his bladder wanted to let go of the larger, but for now Spencer kept things together. 'I don't know who or what you are, but you must leave! Begone! Begone hellspawn!'

Why those particular words? Spencer didn't know, but they worked. Almost instantly they worked. The lamps stopped their crazy light show and that thick oppressive feeling left the room. Had it left the house? Spencer didn't know. And he wasn't about to go and find out either. He sat back down and wiped the sweat from his brow. In the room he was sitting there was no sign that anything odd had happened. Maybe the kitchen would show something, but not here. Here it could have all been a nightmare again.

'I can't sleep. I can never sleep again.' Spencer muttered. Coffee would have been good, but that would mean going to the kitchen and he wasn't ready to move far from the safety of the couch. Not yet at least. He could reach that bottle of vodka though and that would have to do. If he couldn't stay awake, he'd knock himself out. At least then he'd either wake up (if this was a nightmare) or go to sleep (if this was real) or maybe just drift off and never return (if this was death and he was really in hell). He wanted Floyd. Desperately needed Floyd. But Spencer was now slumped sideways over the arm of the couch. There was a puddle of cooling puke on the floor and the birds were singing again and Floyd wasn't yet home.

Not that Spencer would have noticed if he'd come in playing bongo drums and singing a love song in Latin. He was very deeply asleep.

o-o-o

Floyd thought he needed to go and get things out of his system… as such. He started in the dirty backstreets and paid up twenty bucks to blow someone. That _wasn't_ prostitution. No… it was helping someone out who needed a bit of cash. He thought that philanthropy was a good thing and helped out a few people that night. Sometimes Floyd was on his pious knees praying to the god of blow jobs and sometimes he was standing behind someone hammer his hard and very hot self into a person… age, gender, colour… he didn't know or care. Sometimes he paid and sometimes he accepted money… But, no it wasn't prostitution.

A bar… Busy night with music playing over the constant blabber of a sports presenter. Football was on. Men in tight pants, but very well protected. It was really wasn't Floyd's thing. He spent his time sitting on a bar stool with a glass in one hand and a cheroot in the other looking across at the entrance to the well used back room. He was waiting. Waiting for the right person to arrive, but he didn't know who that was. Floyd stuck out in this place because he wasn't a stereotypical fag. He didn't have the black cap and chain and he didn't have an effeminate walk or way of talking… and may the gods help you if you said he did, so he stood out from the camp and the leather in his own way.

'You alone?'

Floyd turned his head to look at a tall blond man. Nice looking. Obviously as queer as they come with the smudges of glitter and the smear of makeup. Floyd gave him a once over and decided that this person was _not_ who he had been looking for. He put a hand out anyway and introduced himself. 'Isgar.' He said loudly enough to be heard over the noise, the squealing, the laughter, the music… the clatter of talking from the TV speakers.

'Reggy.' The man lied. Which was fine with Floyd. He suspected that _Reggie_ didn't believe Floyd when he'd said his name either, which was really amusing as it was about the only bit of truth Floyd spoke that evening. 'You up for fun?'

Floyd poured the rest of the drink down his throat and dropped the cheroot to the floor. 'How much… how much do you charge?'

Reggy smiled and shook his head. 'No charge… just fun, me and a friend.'

The eyes looking at Reggy narrowed. Floyd was trying to work out if this man was going to ask for a screwing or if he was going to walk with this person and then be mugged, at least attempted mugging. 'I'm not leaving the building. I don't know you.' Floyd told Reggy. 'And yeah, I might be up for some group fun.

'That's good. Good. You're not a regular. It's always nice to have fun with someone new.'

Floyd had spent his day drinking. He'd spent his day either smoking or snorting stuff into his brain – or both. He'd spent it prowling and looking for sex and then drinking and doping himself up some more and if you want to wonder why Floyd would have willingly walked off with the two men who seemed to double to four and if you want to wonder why Floyd let them do what they did then you'd have to ask him… he would tell you that his drink had been spiked. It couldn't possibly have been because he had more alcohol in his blood than red blood cells. It wouldn't have been because he was so high that he had no real control over what happened. He couldn't fight them off. He tried! He sort of flailed at them as they pushed him to his knees. He thought he protested as his filthy jeans were pulled down over his bare feet… His boots? Floyd couldn't remember them taking his boots, but they must have done.

Basically these four fit and bronzed youngish men (if the light was right) (fake tan covers a million sins until you turn on the lights) raped Floyd, beat him senseless and left him in a pile of rubbish at the rear of the bar. They took his wallet which had a stupidly huge amount of money in it. They took a silver cigarette lighter. They played games with the filthy drunk junky who they'd coaxed out here so easily he might have been a child. They stuck dirty needles into his arms. They kicked him in the face, the balls and they stamped down on his hands… why? Oh there was a reason.

They were bored.

o-o-o

Something broke into the shed and slept on the rags. It left a nasty wet, dead smell behind it. If anyone had seen it they might have asked questions, but they'd not have gotten any. It rocked back and forth and made soft mewling sounds and when the birds began to sing, it slipped away down a tunnel in the ground, under the trees… secret tunnels and ways which took you through the earth and back home again.

o-o-o

'Pick up the fucking phone.'

Spencer jerked awake.

'Spencer! I know you're there, so just pick up the sodding fucking phone! For my life Spencer…'

'Floyd?' Spencer was talking to Floyd who oddly seemed to be talking on the other end of the phone. 'Where are you?'

A hiss and a crackle. 'I dunno. Let you know.' The sounds of traffic. Horns blaring. People shouting.

'You don't know where you are? Floyd what's happened? I'll come and get you. Give me the location? Are you in a call box?'

'No, no sweety… you stay there. I'll get back. Just wanted to hear your voice. Make sure all was OK. I'm on my way back. I'll…' More shouting and the sound now of a police siren. 'Have to go. I'll call you.' And the line went dead.

'Floyd? FLOYD!' What was the point in screaming the name? He'd hung up. Spencer slammed the phone down, picked it up again and dialled Star 69… nothing… 'How can it be unavailable! I was just talking to him.' He scribbled the number down and then paced the room for a while. There was someone who could help him, but dare he call? Really dare he do such a thing?

Spencer was tired. His head was buzzing with panic and now the memory of the nightmare was coming back. He shuddered and decided to open curtains, turn off lights and make coffee. That sounded like a plan and if Floyd hadn't called back he would make a call himself. He couldn't see any other choice. Unless he just sat and waited…

'Oh my god.' Spencer looked at the mess in the kitchen. The back door was broken inwards. The window glass twinkled in the morning sunshine. A knife was sticking out of the wall next to the back door. 'It was real? It actually happened? Did Floyd do this? Is that why he called? He expected me to be freaked out? Why! Why would he do this – this – _stuff_ to me.'

o-o-o

Garcia was sitting having her shoulders rubbed by Derek. She had her eyes closed and was enjoying a quiet moment with her best buddy when her phone rang. Lazily she picked it up and looked at the unknown number. Derek though was peering over her shoulders. He knew that number. Oh yes. He knew whose number that was. 'Answer it.' Derek said as he removed his hands from Penelope and sat down on a computer chair next to her. 'And put it on speaker. That's Spencer's landline number.'

So she pressed the button and placed the phone on the desk in front of her keyboard. 'Hello?' She asked the caller.

'Pen! Pen… thank god. Can you do me a big favour?' It was Spencer.

She glanced at Morgan who nodded as he picked up a pen and pulled a bit of paper towards him. 'Hey sweetcheeks. Nice to hear your voice. What can I do for you?' She was still looking at Morgan. This felt deceitful and cruel, but it also felt right.

'I have a number. Floyd called me and he was so out of it he didn't even know where he was. I tried calling him back but the number was unavailable. I think it was a public phone. A lot of background noise. I just need a location. I have the number.' He reeled it off to Garcia who tapped it into the screen at the same time looking at what Morgan had written for her.

_DON'T TELL HIM_

'Oh Spencer, it says the number doesn't exist. Are you sure that's the right number? You didn't get any mixed?'

'I wouldn't have forgotten the number.' Spencer sighed. 'Please, can you try again?'

She tapped at the keys again and bit down on her bottom lip. The location was there on her screen and Derek was shaking his head at her. 'I'm sorry… Same thing. If that's the right number I don't know how it was used. Unless it's just not in my system.' Oh the lie! It was so obvious.

'Ah…' Deep breaths from Spencer. 'I see. Thank you for trying.' The line was cut at Spencer's end.

'Thank you.' Derek patted Garcia on the hand. 'Now get that location and see if anything odd has happened in that location in the past few days. I need everything… everything from shop lifting to murder.'

'Got you.' Pen said as she pushed her phone out of the way. She felt dreadful. She hated lying to Spencer.


	44. Chapter 44

44

He had planned on sneaking into the house last night. He had planned on crawling his stinking hide over to Floyd and demanding that he called for him and asked for him to come back. He was going to beg and plead and whine and moan at him and make him love him. He was going to take back that tiny, minute speck of love Floyd had shown him and make him see what he was missing, but Floyd hadn't been there. Spencer was there alone and Spencer was no good. No good at all. Spencer couldn't call him back.

Sam was angry.

Sam was alone, cold, hungry, confused, lost… but most of all Sam was angry.

He hadn't meant to do that to the house… He had crawled under the back porch and he had sobbed and cried like a baby… like a spoilt child who had had his dummy taken from him. The anger and sadness and the rejection and confusion blasted out of Sam like some magical energy. It had been directed at this house. This house where he knew that Floyd took Spencer and did things to him that Floyd had never done to him and so it was the house rather than the occupants that Sam took it out on… it was an untamed force. Sam had no real control over it. But it made him feel even more lost and afraid. It made his nose bleed and it made him piss himself. He shook and twitched and bit his tongue until he sliced through the tip and he spat the bloody black slither out onto the dirt under the porch. He stuffed his fingers into his sore mouth and bit down until his fingers bled… and then he crawled away again. The crawled on his hands and on his feet… an awkward way to move, but Sam was able to scuttle quickly like this. He moved fast. Faster then maybe you'd be able to see. He swooped over the grass and slid out under the back fence and he disappeared into the woods behind. Sam slipped down a hole which dropped down between the roots of a tree… Oh nothing like Alice in Wonderland and her rabbit hole… this hole was more like the beginning of an animal den. It stank like one. It sloped away gently and then opened up… the secret places. The short cuts. They called them The Ways…

Sam sat amongst long forgotten graves which had been dug out into the walls. He chewed on old bones, not for the nourishment but because he wanted to taste his ancestors. He wanted to be part of a world which had thrown him out. Even hell had thrown him out. Left him to fend for himself… and Sam wasn't absolutely sure who or what he was… they'd messed with his mind. They'd cut bits out of his brain. They had abandoned him in a room where the other prisoners had died and rotted away in their chains.

All he knew was that he needed Floyd to call him back. He had to get Floyd to recognise him and want him. He knew that Spencer was in the way… at least for now…

And he knew that Floyd smelt funny. There was something wrong with him. He had a very strange aftersmell… it left a feeling almost as though you'd eaten part of him and the bitter taste lingered… only it wasn't a bitter smell… it was just a _wrong_ smell.

o-o-o

Morgan pulled up at the place the public telephone stood, under a hood at the side of the road. It was next to a bus stop and it was just beyond that where Morgan parked up. He turned off the engine and looked back over his shoulder. He had come out here to see if he could find Flanders and he had intended to park up somewhere here and then walk down the street asking people if they'd seen him. He had a mug-shot of Floyd ready… it wasn't needed. The dirty shoeless tramp sitting at the bus stop was Flanders. Not his usual dapper self. At least Flanders thought he was dapper. Morgan thought he was a tosser. He slid out of the seat and now stood there looking down the street. The people walking past, some giving the bum at the bus stop a dirty look. One young woman dropped a coin at Floyd's feet and Morgan watched with distaste and a churning of his guts as Floyd actually put a foot over the spinning coin and pulled it close enough to reach down and pick it up.

Well begging was not liked. He had an excuse to move him on. A small almost spiteful smile drifted over Morgan's face as he walked towards Flanders. He sat down next to him keeping far enough away so that he'd not have to smell him if it could be avoided. Morgan rested his hands on his knees and tried to work out how he was going to start the chat he intended having.

'Why don't you fuck off?' Floyd's voice hissed over towards Morgan. 'Leave me the hell alone you black motherfucking arsehole.'

Well at least that broke the ice. 'Always nice to sit and have a chat with you. Not looking so hot today.' Morgan could see that Floyd's fingers looked battered and bruised. 'Get your fingers caught in the cash drawer did you?'

Now Floyd turned to look closer at Morgan. 'You think this is funny? You find my situation amusing do you? Go ahead and laugh. I'm waiting for it. Enjoy yourself.'

'Oh believe me, Flanders – I'm laughing on the inside. Get up off the bench you stinking paedophile and take a walk with me. It's not a request. You will take a walk with me.'

Floyd picked up his boots which were sitting on the bench between the pair of them. 'How did you know where to find me? I can't believe that you just happened on by… not unless you were down here looking for a bit of white arse to stuff you black rod into.'

'Shut you disgusting mouth. Talk when you answer my questions. Otherwise you keep that dirty mouth of yours shut.'

Floyd opened his mouth to say something and snapped it shut again then raised and eyebrow. 'For sure…' He made a zip across his mouth motion and stood, boots in hand and took a step towards Morgan. 'Where do… Ah… apologies.' He placed his hand over his mouth, but Floyd could see the delight in Floyd's eyes. He was enjoying every second of this.

Not for much longer.

Morgan could see the way Flanders was swaying. He could hear that drunken slur in his voice. He could see that Floyd was either on uppers and coming down… or on downers and rising up… either way he was out of his damned brains on something and he stank! Not just the normal smell of an grubby unwashed Flanders, but of vomit, urine, fish (?) (damn he hoped it was fish) and the stink of general body odour was so extreme that Morgan's eyes were at risk of watering here. It didn't stop him from taking Flanders by the elbow and dragging him around a corner into a graffiti covered alleyway. He pulled a slightly resistant Floyd down by the dumpsters and into a damp dark place with used condoms as a carpet and needles for that added extra surprise to stand on… with bare feet. Floyd stood with his back to the wall – _Fuckabug wuz here_ – it said and Floyd didn't doubt it at all. He lifted a foot and pulled a bit of broken needle out of the pad of his toes.

'Ouch.' Floyd muttered and threw it aside.

'You're going to be saying more than _ouch_ when I've finished with you.'

'To be sure. Now get this over with will you… then fuck of and go pick your cotton or dig a ditch or something… nigger whore.'

It frustrated Morgan that Floyd didn't attack back. It irritated him beyond belief that Floyd just stood there and let him smack him in the face hard enough to make Morgan wonder if he'd just broken his hand on Flanders' jaw. But Floyd didn't fight back. There were a number of reasons for this… one of them was that co-ordination seemed shot and he was drunk… he was high and didn't really know what the hell was going on… he was not going to give Morgan the satisfaction of being able to say that he had a fight with him and won… no, that just wasn't going to happen. Morgan was going to have to be satisfied with saying that he'd attacked him for no reason and beat him half to death without provocation.

Morgan did ask questions. 'You killed Jack, admit it!'

Floyd replied by spitting blood over Morgan's face.

'Admit what you are!' Morgan howled at him. 'Admit what you've done to Spencer. How you beat him…'

'How is it different to what you're doing to me? You nasty vile little man. Shave off your hair and you think you're some kind of god, but you look and stink of what I pass out of my arse as waste. That's what you are. The Angels were created as perfect beings… and we are…' Floyd gestured at his own pallor. 'Not a black skin amongst us. Now there has to be a reason for that don't you think?'

'What the hell are you talking about? What Angels?'

Floyd smiled around a bloody mouth. Morgan had kindly mashed it for him. 'You are too dark. Not just your skin, but your dirty filthy soul… it's too dark to even begin to comprehend what life is all about and Morgan my dear, if I tried to explain to you what _my_ life is all about, I think you would just fall down dead. Whether it be through the shock of understanding that you were born cursed or because you will finally understand that I've been right all along and you've been blundering along in the dark. Carry on hitting me. Do your worst Agent Derek Morgan, but firstly before you completely knock me out… or put a bullet in my head, because I know that's what you want… please… Derek… let me tell you that I was mugged last night.'

'Mugged?'

'Beaten and my wallet and silver lighter taken. I need them back. I don't care about the money… really a few grand here and there is nothing to me, but I want that wallet back and I need that lighter back. You understand that much at least don't you? They are items of great value to me and even greater value to my enemies.' Floyd wiped blood from under his nose. 'The battle was won, but the war still rages. I need those things back and I need to protect Spencer…'

'Mugged?' Morgan said again. It seemed so ridiculous… he shook his head and stepped back from Flanders. 'You are insane.'

'No. I just see things differently. I march to a different beat of the drum. That doesn't make me insane. It makes me enlightened. That doesn't change the matter that I had my property taken from me. It doesn't alter the fact that I know you can kill me… I know… I know at least that you can try to, but I know you wont. I'll admit to nothing I've not done. I will repeat to you once more… truth… I promise… I did _not_ hurt Jack Hotchner.'

'You think that attacking Spencer, breaking into my home…'

'Yes I think it's because my soul and my spirit are not burdened down with the shit yours is… that's why those things are so trivial to me. There's far more important things going on. I'm just a pawn, Derek. I have orders to follow, but I still have days when I can let go and have some fun. There're no rules against smoking or drinking. Can I go now… I want to get back to Spencer.'

Morgan walked the couple of steps back to Flanders, put a hand on each of his shoulders and cracked his knee up into Floyd's balls. It was very satisfying to see him fall forward with a howl of pain, clutching at his tender parts and puking in the trash. Yes, that was actually very satisfying.

'Get up and come with me. I'll take you home, but only because I know Reid is concerened.'

'Fuck the fucking fuck off! I'm going no fucking where with you, you fucking bastard cunting fuck.' Floyd rocked slowly back and forth. 'If you want to help, then tell Spence where I am. I'm going nowhere with you.'

'Help? Sure I'll help.' Morgan stepped away, turned and walked quickly back to his car. Oh he was going to help all right, only not in the way Floyd would want.

o-o-o

Spencer sat on a chair in the lounge and cracked his knuckles. He had picked at the wound on his neck until it was bleeding freely and he'd picked and scratched at the one on his chest. He needed to get up and get out of the house. He had to move. He had to get away, but he couldn't. The fear of being in this pretty little house with the wrap around porch was not quite, but almost as great as the thought of going outside. He had been drinking. He'd drunk small bottles of soda water which had been in the drinks cabinet, and then he'd drunk some of Floyd's whiskey. It had relaxed him slightly, but now he needed to pee and the room was smelling strongly of vomit and man sweat. When someone hammered on the door, the need to pee almost left in a hot warmth on his groin, but he managed to keep himself together. It wasn't the hammering of the night before, it was not what had happened before, but it still brought Spencer out in a cold sweat of panic.

'Reid! Open the door!'

'Morgan?' Spencer whispered to himself. 'No, no, no! It can't be Morgan.' He slowly and shakily got to his feet and rubbed at his neck.

'Reid!' Again Morgan was shouting. 'I don't want to have to break down the door!' He shouted.

Spencer walked to the hallway, but didn't approach the front door. 'Derek? I'm on my way.' His voice had a wobble in it to match the unsteady steps he began to make across a hallways which seemed to be much bigger than it had been the day before. 'Give me a second.' Spencer muttered at the brown wooden door as he tried to pick the red tape off the locks. It seemed to have welded it self in place. 'Nearly there.' He groaned as a fingernail tore back as he groped or the lock. When he finally pulled the door open he saw Derek standing there alone. He had assumed that there was a SWAT team out there to arrest him for something. 'Derek?' He said through gritted teeth.

'You're coming with me.' Morgan took Spencer's arm and started to pull him from the house.

'No!' Spencer pulled back, lost his footing and flew backwards into the hall, landing hard on his backside. 'UMPH.' Was ejected from between his lips.

'Spencer. He's going to kill you. You're coming with me. I care too much for you to let this carry on.'

Slowly Spencer got onto his hands and knees. 'You don't understand. I can't go out there.'

'He's told you that you can't? He's not here! Come with me. He's not going to be running to grind you into the ground for a while yet.'

'It's not Floyd! It's something else. It's out there… for the gods, Morgan – I can't go out there.'

He could though it seemed. He was dragged forcibly from his sanctuary and dragged down the garden path towards Morgan's car. 'I'll take you to my place. I'll keep you there. I'll keep you safe.'

'I'm not a dog! I'm not something to be dragged around and fought over! Let me go Derek. You don't understand! You can't possibly understand.' But he seemed to be sitting in the front of Derek's car now. 'He will… he will…'

'He will what?' Morgan snapped at the sickly looking thing sitting next to him.

'He will wonder where I am.'

'That son of a bitch wont give a damn. You know it. I can…' Derek wanted to tell Spencer that he could love him properly. He wanted to say that he could show him what being cared for was all about, but for now he kept quiet. Firstly he was going to show Spencer… and then let this confused frightened animal decide for himself. Derek was going to have the prize. Derek was driving off with it now…

Spencer showered when he got to Derek's. He showered alone. He was given some old sweat pants and a Tshirt to put on and then Derek sat him down and put dressings on the multiple wounds. Then just as Spencer began to unlock his muscles and maybe… not relax, but be less on the offensive, the questions started.

'They are bites.' Morgan said as he put a dressing on Spencer's neck. 'There are tooth marks.' It wasn't an accusation. It was a comment.

'I know what they are Derek.' Spencer picked up his coffee mug. 'I shouldn't be here.'

'Of course you should. Hotel rooms are…'

'Seedy and dirty. They are where you take your dirty little secret. That's not what I am Morgan. I'm Floyd's lover.'

Morgan slammed a cupboard door shut where he'd replaced the medical dressings and spun on Spencer. 'Lover? Lover? Can't you see what he's done to you? Haven't you looked in a mirror recently? You're verging on emaciated. You've been taking drugs… don't think you can hide that from me Spencer, I've seen it enough to know. You've been drinking, and what the hell? He's been biting you until you bleed? That's not a love nip, Spencer, that's vile and brutal… even animals don't do that. I can keep you from it. Protect you from it all.'

Spencer tried on a smile. 'No you can't. Don't even pretend that you think you can. What we had was exactly what I said… it was a dirty little secret. It was a fling. Would you openly tell Garcia or Rossi or Prentiss that you'd had me in that way? No you'd not. You have to keep your reputation up don't you. I appreciate the thought, but it's very misguided. Derek, you're too… too _gentle_. Too suffocating. What we had was just something… and now it's over.'

Derek was pacing up and down the small galley kitchen. 'No… you're wrong. What we had was…'

'Dirty… it was dirty, Morgan. If you really thought it was something else then you would have said something to someone. How will you explain that I'm here? How will you explain that? Will you say that I've been sleeping on the couch? Will you?'

Morgan stopped pacing and turned to look at the thing sitting there. That thing which made his heart thump and his body tingle. The thing he knew he had to have and keep… it was his by rights! He was the better man… hadn't he just proved that?'

'Spencer it's not so easy… I can't…'

Reid stood and walked to the couch. He sat and turned on the TV and sat staring at some documentary about whales. 'You can't? I can. I can say _yes Derek and I have had sex._ I can't say I love you, but I'm not scared of my sexuality.'

'I will keep you from him.'

'You can try.' Spencer flicked the channel. 'So I'm on the couch or you? We have to get our stories straight.' He felt like he'd been dragged from one hell to another. How badly did he want to feel that dark skin under his hands? Oh quite badly actually… And there was only one way he was going to let it happen… only one way which he could allow him self to go over to Morgan and accept the comfort he needed so badly. 'Twenty bucks.' Spencer muttered.

It caught Morgan's attention. He walked over and sat down next to Spencer. The seething rage seemed to have died back slightly. 'What for?'

'To fuck me. I charge twenty bucks. You want to fuck a whore. You have to pay up. I can't let you have me for free.'

'You are kidding me.'

'Not even slightly. Pay up or I'm out of here. It's that simple.' Except it wasn't. 'Please… it's just a token. Just so I can…'

'This is so fucked up.' Derek spoke quietly. 'You are so messed up I don't even recognise you any more.'

Spencer raised an eyebrow. It would save Morgan's life. Spencer could whore. He just couldn't form emotional bonds with people. 'Twenty bucks or I'm leaving.'

'This is…'

'Life.' Spencer put out a hand for the money. 'Cash first… fun later. Derek, you dragged me here from something you thought was evil and wrong, but I'm not that innocent kid you knew when I first joined the BAU. Actually I wasn't that innocent kid even then. I lost my innocence a long old time ago… Now accept the deal or I'm off.' Damn… he didn't want to leave. He so desperately didn't want to leave, but unless Morgan agreed he was going to have to.

Derek nodded slowly. 'I really would never have believed that I'd have to pay for sex.' Derek had a cold, ice cold, smile on his face.

'You want me, you're going to have to pay.' The hand stayed there waiting or the money. 'I'll take an IOU.' He whispered. 'If you don't have the cash.'

Twisted and sick. That's what Morgan thought this was. It was so foul that he… that he thought he was going to scream with lust. He slapped air onto Spencer's hand and then grabbed it tightly. 'Fine. I owe you twenty bucks. If that's how you want to deal with this.'

'It is.' Spencer stood and let himself be guided to Morgan's very manly bedchamber.


	45. Chapter 45

45

Floyd didn't know how he got home, but here he was standing in front of his lovely happy home. The front door was wide open. There was no one there though; he could sense that much.

And he knew something else too. Oh yes he knew that very well indeed. He walked up the porch steps, trying to hold his breath. The smell was disgusting. The smell was not the most hideous part though because he knew that smell only too well. He'd been gifted with wafts of it earlier. Oh and there was that _other thing_ too… That other thing he could sense and it was about to drive him into a murderous rage. He walked up his steps and through his door which he slammed behind him, noting the red tape dangling off the lock. Spencer had been freaked out again. Floyd pulled it all the way off the door and then dropped the tape to the floor. Not something to worry about right now because right now he just needed to sit on his couch and try to concentrate through the rushing adrenaline.

He had been pissed off earlier and taken off guard. He had laid in the trash and tried to pull himself back to some kind of normality and that took a few hours. Getting home? Well he couldn't remember doing that, but he must have done as here was the couch, a puddle of puke, empty drinks bottles… Spencer just better not nag about the drinking ever again. This was disgusting and the acid in the vomit would forever mark the floor. Not that he intended staying here much longer…

The couch… a divine feeling. He sat back, un-zippered his jeans and let the feeling take him away for a very short while. A few minutes at the very most. His balls still hurt. His abdomen felt like it was filling with blood… but that was nothing compared with what else he could feel.

Spencer was being screwed.

He could feel it… not in his own sorry backside, but up there in his soggy mess of a brain. Spencer was being had… and he knew who by too… oh he knew.

There were a few things Floyd could do. He could go over there and drag Spencer home and beat him till his brains came out of his ears. He could go over there and beat Morgan until his brains came out of his black arse. He could sit here and pretend it wasn't happening. He could forgive and forget (yeah right)… or he could do something else… and that something else is what Floyd did. He'd had enough run ins with Morgan recently. He wasn't going to be blamed for his untimely death. So Floyd lay back on the couch which his knees slightly bent and his boots getting filth all over the upholstery and he put two fingers from each hand on his temples and he concentrated. It wasn't easy. It wasn't something he made a habit of doing. Floyd liked to see the look on a man or woman's or even a kid's face when he made a kill. He liked to feel their blood flowing over his hands. He loved that smell! He loved the taste… so long distance slaughter had only been used in dire emergencies in the past… And he knew that he couldn't do this to just any old person. He had to have a connection… a real good connection, and Floyd thought that he might have one here… So he concentrated until blood dripped from his nose, until bubbles of blood popped in his ears… he pissed himself and thought it was on the verge of dumping in his shorts when it happened. At least he thought it had happened. If it hadn't then he wasn't able to do it and had maybe just killed all the ducks in the local pond. Kaboom.

o-o-o

Spencer had felt a small amount of guilt, but… he reasoned with himself that Floyd had been out all night and the possibility that he kept his jeans locked shut for the night was a very remote one. Surely then this was not really any different. He had demanded money. If Floyd asked he'd read no lie on his breath, because it was truth.

Morgan was gentle… which was irritating to a degree. Spencer liked to feel battered and bruised afterwards. He liked to stand naked in front of a mirror and look at this battle scars and bruises. He liked that. It made it real. It made it not a dream – or a nightmare. Morgan was very gentle. Morgan treated Spencer as though he was a delicate, fragile object. It was as though Morgan was afraid that he'd break Spencer. He touched and he kissed and massaged and he probed and touched some more… and he used a condom, which Spencer smiled inwardly about. Always use a condom if hammering a whore. You don't know what you'll catch.

'You think I have a disease?' Spencer asked after the condom was dropped at the side of the bed.

Morgan didn't answer. He wrapped his strong dark arms around the prize and he breathed in the scent which Floyd loved so much. That man smell mixed with soap… that sweet delicious smell… which made him want more. Much more. So Morgan crawled down Spencer's body and finished him off with his mouth…

It was sublime…

… but Morgan had to admit to himself as he lay down next to Spencer that the best part of this was that he'd snatched it from under Floyd's nose. Floyd who was probably laying in the gutter bleeding internally… Floyd who was finished – destroyed – gone, at least as far as Spencer was concerned. However, could Morgan say that he loved Spencer?

No.

However, Morgan _could_ say that he had such a deep hatred for Flanders that even if he'd been straight he would have done this.

That did lunch.

They sat and just talked about anything except work or Flanders. Both subjects were ignored without having to say. It did seem to leave a strange gap though. Two men, who had nothing at all in common except for the two things neither of them would or wanted to talk about. Spencer didn't watch sports and Derek didn't watch the same sort or movies that Spencer did and now it was coming to the time where Spencer was spouting off random facts just to stop the room from being silent.

They didn't even have music in common.

There was nothing.

They sat looking at the television. It was a comedy which Spencer didn't really understand. The humour was very odd… not humorous in Spencer's mind, but Morgan was laughing, so Spencer attempted to join in.

Truth was that Spencer was bored. This wasn't his home and he didn't feel comfortable here, and now that pang of guilt was returning.

'I should go home.' Spencer muttered as he picked at the seam on the side on the sweatpants.

'Home?' Derek muted the ridiculous show and turned to Spencer. 'Home? You can stay here. You can always stay here.'

Spencer gave a small sideways smile. 'Derek, this isn't my home. I need to go back. Floyd…'

Now Derek stood. 'Floyd? After what we did? Still Floyd?'

Spencer stood too and nodded. 'I guess… You paid… It's time I left.'

How Derek didn't hit Spencer for that he didn't know. He had no idea how he had stayed his hand. He wanted to smack Spencer's face in until he choked on his damned lovely teeth. 'I paid? I paid? You honestly thought it was a one off thing? You really think that I believe that? That excuse that you'll only bed for money.'

'I'll only bed for money.' Spencer muttered. 'I need my own clothes back.'

'NO!' Morgan howled at Spencer. 'I don't go with whores!'

Spencer shrugged. 'OK, but I still need my clothes.'

'My god Spencer, how can you do this. I have so much I can offer you. My world! It's yours!' He grabbed Spencer and pulled him close. He ground his hot body against Spencer and damn it if Spencer didn't respond in the exact way Derek knew he would! It was lust, pure divine lust!

But that sudden pain…

Morgan dropped his hands from Spencer and stepped back. He put one hand to his left eye and the other to the side of his head. 'Ah.. ah damn.'

That was the last thing Spencer heard Morgan say. He watched in silent horror as Morgan flopped to the floor. There was a small gurgle sound, a twitch of a finger and a mostly naked Derek Morgan was sprawled on his day room floor.

'Derek? Stop it. Just stop this!' Spencer crouched down next to Derek and grabbing a shoulder, pulled him over onto his back. He felt for a pulse. He put his ear to Morgan's manly chest… silence. Nothing. 'No!... NO! You can't do this! You can't! Get up! Stop it! Whatever stupid game this is! I need to say I'm sorry! I need to tell you that I loved what you did! I want to feel you… Oh my god… oh my dear god!'

Spencer ran for the telephone and dialled 911. He said that his friend had just passed out but he thought he was dead… he gave an address… He snatched up his things and he ran. He left Morgan laying on the wooden floor and he legged it as fast as he could. Not guilt this time. This time it was maybe to protect Morgan.

'They will know. Everyone will know.'

_Get your arse back here, Spencer. I don't know where the fuck you are, but you get back here now. I need you._

Floyd's voice came into his head so strong and loud that Spencer fell over his own feet and skidded on his knees along the sidewalk. He put hands to his ears, dropping his clothing, crying… blubbing like a kid… listening out for the sirens which would come with the medics, wondering what they'd think when they found Derek laying there… 'It wasn't my fault.' He hissed to himself.

_Spencer, get home. I'm waiting for you._

_ I want you._

_ I need you._

'He's going to kill me. He wont listen to me. He wont understand… he would let me…' Spencer didn't go right home. He sat on a small wall outside a shop which had never closed except on Christmas day for over fifty years. Spencer sat there and looked at the "Closed" sign and wondered if it was Christmas. Had he missed so much time?

'I'm going to be in so much pain.'

_Don't you ignore me boy… get home._

Spencer looked up at the sky and sighed. 'I'm on my way… Just getting… just… just getting my breath back.'

o-o-o

Floyd knew that Spencer was going to lie to him. It somehow took away the joy that he'd just exploded Derek Morgan's brain, turned it to mush… destroyed the bastard without laying a hand on him… There had been a witness… but that witness was running back home again. At least he had better be running back home again… and there was going to be so much trouble. So much… it was going to be painful… more painful than the double kicking Floyd had taken recently. He lifted himself up off the couch and walked towards the lounge door, dragging a chair behind him. He placed the chair next to the door and then sat on it. He wanted to be close when Spencer came through the door. He needed to be right there waiting. Floyd nibbled on his thumb nail. Not to make it blunt and short, but to improve on the serrated edge and to clean out the shit which had built up behind it. The dark gunk gave Floyd a slight buzz… it was good stuff! Who would have known? And really it very well could have actually been shit! It's amazing what collects behind fingernails. There are actually more germs behind a fingernail than on the rim of a toilet, but Floyd was sure that if he'd cleaned the toilet that it would be free off all known contaminants… 'No germs on my bog.' Floyd smiled and placed his hands on his lap and waited and he waited. The phone didn't ring. But there was an odd buzzing vibration under the floorboards sometimes. It was almost like something was crawling around there. Something pulsating out energy… He'd have a look later. He had lessons to teach first.

For over an hour he sat there waiting before he heard someone walking up the steps. The door wasn't locked so if someone knocked then it wasn't Spencer. No one knocked though. Floyd heard the door open. He heard something soft falling to the floor… a jacket or something. Then shoes being kicked off, then it was Spencer's padding feet walking towards the lounge.

'Floyd! I need to talk to you.' He'd been crying. He'd been sobbing his poor whorish heart out… he wanted sympathy?

'In here.' Floyd didn't shout. He didn't want to alarm Spencer and have to go running after him, but he stood now and moved the chair back out of the way. The door opened and Floyd stepped out from behind it. An arm wrapped around Spencer's neck and a very sharp nail dug up deep into the soft flesh under Spencer's jaw.

'I was going to let you lie to me.' Floyd hissed in Spencer's ear, 'but there's no need. I know where you've been.'

'Let me explain.'

'No. I'm done with your explanations. I'm done with your excuses. I've given you everything I can possibly give you. I've worshipped the damned ground you walk on. I've torn out the hearts of others to protect you and to keep you as mine. I don't know what else to do. I don't know what it is I'm doing wrong.'

Spencer could feel blood running down his neck. He thought at first that Floyd was going to cut his neck. Slice it right open… but it was just a small trickle he'd made, at least for now. 'I didn't… It wasn't what you thought… and it's over. I'll never go back to him again. I promise you Floyd… I promise I'll never talk to him again.'

It was beyond anything he ever thought Spencer would say to him. It was truth… it was blinding truth! But Spencer didn't know that he knew _why_ it was truth.

'I'm not lying to you Floyd, and it wasn't what you might think it was. I paid him. I said I'd only go with him if it was for money. He agreed. It was business.'

Again Floyd couldn't hear a lie. Again Spencer was speaking the truth. 'You whored for Derek Morgan?' He let go of Spencer and pushed him out of the way. 'Why would you whore for him, Spencer? Why can't you just say that you don't want him? Why would you not be able to say that today and be able to say it another time? How the hell can I possibly trust you? You're not lying to me… and that maybe confuses me slightly, but Babes… you… you've…' Words for a second failed Floyd. He stood there looking at Spencer who was hiding behind a death to cover his tracks. A death which Floyd knew about. 'I have always… nearly always… sometimes been honest with you… you know I have powers… if you want to call them that. There are things I know, things I can do…'

'I know.' Spencer muttered. 'I heard you.'

'Oh you heard me? You heard me calling you back to the nest and you came running, but you were already on your way home. Why is that?'

'I wanted to come home.' Spencer backed away slightly.

'Why? Why did Derek let you go...'

'Because… because…'

'Because he's dead?' Floyd asked Spencer. 'Because I called in favours and destroyed the bastard. Because that same cunt! That same mother fucker beat the shit out of me earlier… yes? He beat the shit out of me and then thought he'd claimed you, but no, Spencer… it's the fucking end of ends. Either you end it or I do, because this shit can't carry on. I've had to destroy everyone around you to stop you from wandering off. You can't stay one fucking night alone at home and not go running off with someone. All those weeks I go away sometimes… those times I have to go back for meetings, or just to get away and walk… how can I do that now? You have ruined everything. You have destroyed it all. I have done the most insanely disgusting things for you and you take it, push it back and then you stand there ready for me to prove that I love you again. Do I love you? I don't know. I did… really I did… I loved you more than I could possibly love anything ever, but now? You faithless fucking WHORE! And don't you DARE! Don't you dare say I was out whoring, because I admit I was… but it was backstreet fucks… not beds and coffee and showers with the one person I told you to stay away from… leave that blood right where it is… I want it.'

'You're … you… Morgan? What?'

'I killed him! I gave him a cerebral haemorrhage or something. I turned off his brain. I destroyed him!'

'Why?' Spencer seemed to wobble on his feet and Floyd was there in a flash catching him. He didn't want his boy to fall and knock himself out.

'You know why. He tried to take what is mine. You are mine. I might not like you very much right now. I might think you're a vulgar sick slut, but you belong to me and I'm not letting you go… You will come with me.

Floyd helped Spencer to sit on the floor. He lay him down on his back and then Floyd sat next to him and pulled Spencer onto his lap. Spencer was aware of what was going on… but didn't seem able to stop it. He could feel that thumb nail picking at the dressing on his neck. He could feel the nail slicing through the scab and opening it up again… Then for a moment there was nothing… then a bloody wrist was again slapped over Spencer's mouth and the blood trickled down the back of Spencer's throat and Floyd suckled from the cut on Spencer's throat. For Floyd this was perfection. If Spencer died it no longer mattered. He was going to pull back from emotional ties. He was going to end it and just use Spencer for his own simple pleasures. He would have ten years of absolute bliss. Then he would hand Spencer's bled and empty body over and move on, pick up Sam again, get a new client… someone to guard. Floyd moved his head back but kept his wrist where it was. Spencer was, as before, holding it in place. Floyd ran his fingers through Spencer's hair and sighed.

No matter what this son of a bitch did to him, he couldn't stop needing him. He wished he could keep the anger and rage, but this was a pure Kodak moment. If only Sam had been here too… it would have been fit to be woven into one of the ancient tapestries and hung on the wall of a King. It would have been turned into a painting and painted upon the ceiling of a great church… it was a mortal, drinking blood from his master. What is more perfect than that?

'I don't know what to do Spencer?' Floyd leaned down and kissed Spencer's brow. 'If I kill you than I will be lost. If I let you go I will have to come after you. If I keep you with me I will have to kill you… there is no answer to this problem.' He pulled his hand away from Spencer and looked at his blood smeared face. 'We are already lost, don't you think?'

'I think.' Spencer muttered. 'What you did was unforgivable. How could you do something like that?'

'He would have kept you like a caged animal. And he kicked me in the balls – and I have to admit that was the real reason… and I could feel it… virtual fucking by proxy is worse than watching snuff porn, Babes.'


	46. Chapter 46

46

They sat side by side on the couch. Spencer had been given the wet patch to sit in. Floyd was reading. He was reading in silence. He didn't want to share any joy with Spencer. Spencer had fucked everything up again. Spencer was after all just a whore. Never to be trusted again. Ever. Floyd stretched out his arms over his head and placed the book carefully to one side.

'Getting a coffee, Babes. Fancy one?'

Spencer turned his face to look at Floyd. He didn't answer. He sniffed something back which was trying to crawl out of his nose. Blood probably. It would have been very likely considering the boot which had smacked against Spencer's nose. He flinched when Floyd stood up. He wanted to pull his feet back out of the way and keep them safe.

His feet hurt. At first the pain had been a dull throb, but now it was a screaming agony tearing its way up both of Spencer's legs. He wanted to hold them and protect them and keep them away from danger, but Floyd had nailed them to the floor and they were stuck there, exposed and just asking for someone to kick them or tread on them as they walked by.

'Do you want a coffee?' Floyd asked again.

'Yes.' Spencer replied and went back to looking down at his hands.

'Yes what?' Floyd now asked.

'Yes please my love.' Spencer replied.

'That's better.' Floyd leaned in and kissed Spencer on the end of his nose. 'This is for your own good. I just can't trust that you'll run off. I can't risk it. You showed me that your loyalty to me runs only as deep as your skin. Remove me from your gaze for more than five minutes and you've forgotten me. That hurts.' Floyd placed a hand over his heart. 'I wouldn't have minded if you'd have gone out and slutted around in the clubs and bars. That would have been fine! But what you did, Spencer… forgiveness is a long way down the road. Trust? Well that's gone for good.'

'I didn't plan it that way.' Spencer wiped sorry wet tears off his face.

Floyd slapped Spencer's hands out of the way. He wanted to see those tears on Spencer's face. 'You feel regret now, but not because you let that animal have you, but because now you're in pain. Had I not known, you'd not have regrets and you would go back to him again. Tell me otherwise, Spencer. Convince me that you would never have gone back to Morgan.'

'I wouldn't have.'

A lie.

Another fucking lie.

When would he learn?

'You need to be very careful what you say to me. Very careful. One more lie and you and I are done with. I will collect Sam and move on. This is no longer worth the shit I'm having to put up with. I got mugged. Did I tell you? Did Derek tell you that before he found me that I was already half beaten to death? I told him that I had been mugged, my wallet taken, my lighter is gone… I have to go find those things… What was I saying now? Oh… just don't bother lying to me Spencer. You are beautiful… you are a pure work of art, but somewhere along the line, during one of your rebirths – which I should point out were brought around by me – your soul or your spirit became something nasty. I'm going to kill you.' Floyd walked towards the door. 'Do you still want coffee?'

'Yes.' Spencer muttered. 'But I would rather you took these nails out of my feet and let me explain.'

'Coffee it is then.' Floyd turned and left.

Spencer sat in silence. He knew that what he'd done was a betrayal.

Floyd was now saying that he was going to kill him. He had the stupid comfort in the past that he could rile Floyd to a point of explosion and yes he'd get hurt for it, but he'd never feel that his life was actually at risk. Those beatings had been good! This want good. This was a very long way from being even close to good. This was terrifying. Floyd was not the most predictable of people and not the most reliable, but if he made a promise he kept to it. He'd not promised yet. And the thought that he was going to… going to promise to kill him for this one small indiscretion was what was causing the fear.

The coffee was placed on the small table in front of him. It sat on a coaster made out of a small slither of polished stone. It was a beautiful coaster. Spencer had seen them in a shop and had bought them for Floyd. They'd never been used before… today Floyd had got them out and had placed a circle of the stone coasters on the oak coffee table. It was as though he was awaiting guests. Guests who he would sit down and talk to and make coffee for.

'Thank you.' Spencer muttered as the mug was smacked down. 'Thank you, my love.'

Floyd slumped down in Spencer's leather chair. He had marked the leather by stubbing out smokes on the arms. He's discoloured the seat with something Spencer didn't even want to think about. There were scratch marks and small ragged tears in it. Spencer no longer considered it his chair. It wasn't a comfort to sit in any more. It was sad… Floyd had ruined it.

Floyd ruined every thing. He seemed incapable of not destroying something unless it was his own. He didn't care if someone else loved it; actually he seemed to take more pleasure in the slow destruction of something if someone else _did_ love it.

'They will come and ask questions.' Floyd told Spencer. 'They will know you were in his apartment.'

Spencer looked down at his feet but kept silent.

'They will know!' Floyd now shouted at Spencer. 'Don't you care? Don't you give a fuck about anything? Don't you mind that they will know that Morgan fucked you?'

Now Spencer looked up. 'No one needed to know.' Spencer hissed at him. 'It was private. It was between myself and Derek. It is you who has made sure that everyone will know.'

Floyd nodded. 'Well I must say that I am sorry.' He smirked. He knew that Spencer would know that he had used that word to prove how worthless it was. He wasn't sorry. He would repeat it if he needed to. 'The wheel turns. We move on. It's life. You shouldn't have let him do that to you. You should have told him to go away. You shouldn't have gone to his apartment. You shouldn't have been wearing his clothes when you came home. All of that is just another nail… and another… you are going to feel like a porcupine man jesus by the time I'm done with you. That beautiful skin that I wanted to remove from your carcass with no longer be of use. I'll not be able to wear you as a second skin after all. It pains me that it's going to have to be done though. Not here. We will go away somewhere and I will kill you slowly. Very slowly. If it has to be done, then I will make sure that I enjoy it and that Sam learns something from it.'

Spencer remained silent. There was no need to ask anything or say anything. There was no need to do anything but sit and wait. 'I need the bathroom.' He said eventually after sitting there for an hour.

'Tough.' Floyd replied. He'd been reading again. A cookery book of all things. It didn't fill Spencer with much comfort. 'When they arrive to take you away I will have to un-nail you. That doesn't mean that you are free. You understand that?'

'I understand.'

'Even if I'm not with you.'

'Even if you're not with me, I'm not free.'

'Good.' Floyd stood up and walked to the window which looked over the front drive. 'They will find blood.' Floyd stated. 'They will do tests and they will think they know what happened.'

'I will tell the truth about what happened there.' Spencer mumbled. 'They will know anyway. Derek used a condom.'

Floyd spun on Spencer and grinned. 'He did! That's wonderful. Did he leave it somewhere easy to find?'

'He thought I was diseased. That's why he used one.'

A sudden burst of laughter from Floyd made Spencer jump. He jerked his feet causing that ragged hot pain to return. He looked away from Floyd and back down at his own lap… mind over matter… there is no pain. Pain is just a feeling, like hunger or an itch… it will go if you ignore it.

'That's funny, Spencer. You have to admit that thinking you were diseased and protecting himself from that only to die anyway… that's fucking funny. What a waste of an enjoyable moment. They will know instantly if they find that condom. Your DNA is going to be all over it! Oh lordy! That's hysterical. It just gets better all the damned time!'

'Ha ha.' Spencer grunted between clenched teeth. It was as close to a laugh that he could manage, but it didn't seem to bother Floyd. 'I would have killed for you. I would have covered up any crime. I would have done anything.'

'You ate from the tree of knowledge.' Floyd spat at Spencer. 'You had the whole fucking world to fuck and you just _had_ to have the one dick I asked you never to go to. So no more Eden for you, Babes. If I can be thrown down for wanting to fuck, then you can be killed for crossing the same damned line. Seems only fair to me.'

'What will happen? What will happen to me?'

'Planning for your future are you?' Floyd went and sat back down, only this time he sat next to Spencer and put an arm around his shoulders. Spencer sat unmoving, like a limp lump of rock. 'You are cursed. You know that though. The Old Woman might accept you, but you will be stopped from crossing the river. You can't go to The Great Forest. It's not permitted if you have the taint of the … the… the whatever the fuck it is that's tainting you… the unfaithful? The Deceiver? The Great Liar? The Whore? The Manipulator? The Greedy, Lustful, Dirty, Junky bitch whore dog.' Floyd ran a loving finger down the side of Spencer's face. 'So the chances are pretty slim don't you think? No redemption. No second chances because you're just this bag of blood and bones. Nothing more… you're not special. Now… let me think… You remember that webbing of stuff like scaffolding poles over one of the pits in hell? Well you might end up hanging by your intestines from there. You might get to be fucked by that Spider bitch that had Sam… you might get to sit in a cage and slowly barbeque and feel the demons feeding off what is left of your flesh… a lot of options. Not one of them very nice. Now of course if I'm with you, I could take you to my place in hell. My lovely home from home. My tent of vice and passion. Az is there, but after what you've done I don't feel that I should keep my dick out of Az. Unless I release him. So yeah… no happy ending for you Spencer. A slow death followed by an eternity of pain…Unless something happens to change my mind. Realistically it's not going to happen is it babes. You have ruined me. Hard to believe I know, but you have forced me to beg. You have made me kill over and over again… you… you and your alluring eyes… and the way you lick at your lips! See! See! I just say it and you do it and you turn my stomach into fucking knots of anguish because I want to hold you and keep you safe, but I can't.'

'I wish you would let me explain.' Spencer muttered.

'I don't want to hear it.' Floyd moved his arm away again, reached under the couch and pulled out the hammer he had used earlier. 'Nails out… Bite down on something because this is going to hurt.'

It might well of hurt, but Spencer passed out as soon as Floyd knelt on the floor and leered up at Spencer. When he came round again he was laying across the couch with Floyd sitting on the couch's arm. He had something in his hands, flipping it from one hand to the next, but he was watching Spencer closely.

'Looks like you trod on something out in the garden. A rake? Possibly. A rusty nail? More likely.' He held up the small white box with red printed writing across the front. 'Luckily for you I have bands aids. Two for each foot. Wow… even through all the shit I'm still thinking of you first.' He tossed the box to Spencer. 'Sort out your fucking feet before the Feds arrive… and arrive they surely will and then take these… three of them.' Floyd held up three blue capsules. 'They will make the pain go away for long enough to be able to walk to the car. Quick acting… wait until they arrive. You shit on me Spencer and you would wish for more than a death. I'm not sure what it is you would wish for…. A world without me in it?'

Floyd placed the capsules on the coffee table and watched Spencer fumble around with the things to stick over his broken feet. It was pitiful. Really it was. Floyd loved a feisty Spencer, but he only liked it in the bedroom. Spencer had taken it too far.

o-o-o

They were both taken in for questioning. Spencer because it was his voice on the 911 call and his face on Morgan's security camera and Floyd was taken in because Floyd was Floyd and so must have had something to do with this new tragedy. Rossi spoke to Spencer first.

'We know you were there.' Rossi said as though he was talking to an idiot.

'I'm not even going to try to deny that I was there.' Spencer spoke as he looked down at the table. 'Morgan came to my home and asked me to go back with him to his place. He seemed to think I was in danger. I went with him.'

'Why would Morgan ask you to do that? What danger did he think you were in? What happened when you were there and more importantly why did you call 911 when something happened and then run?'

Spencer shook his head. Too many questions. Little blue capsules confused his brain. They muddled things up and screwed them around until he didn't know what was going on. 'I ran because I panicked. I knew that there was nothing I could do for Derek. He just collapsed in front of me. We were talking and he just fell. I checked him. He was probably dead before he hit the floor. I don't know what it was… and yes I panicked. I grabbed my things and ran.'

'There was a reason why we would think you had something to do with Morgan's passing? Did you do something to him?'

Spencer sat in silence. He twisted his hands together in his lap. He wriggled on his chair. He tried to curl his toes, but that hurt too much. Then Spencer looked up at Rossi and he glared into his eyes. 'We had sex. Derek didn't want anyone to know. He said it would ruin his reputation as a ladies man. We had sex and then we talked and Derek just fell to the floor. I panicked as I said. I shouldn't have, but I did. It wasn't a situation I wanted to be in. I didn't want to sully Morgan's name.'

It was Rossi's turn to say nothing. He just sat there staring at Spencer who was now looking back down at the table. Derek and Spencer? That just wasn't even slightly in the correct ball park. That would have been the last reason he would have guessed Spencer would have been there.

'It wasn't the first time.' Spencer now said. 'It was very casual though. No emotional ties. He… Derek… He paid me.'

Now Rossi stood. 'Paid you?'

'I whored for him.' Spencer whispered. 'He paid me for sex.'

Rossi left the room. This was beyond anything he had expected to hear. He looked at the shocked expression on Emily's face. She'd been listening… she'd been crying. She stood there with JJ at her side and let Rossi walk by them. No one spoke. The two women looked at Spencer through the window with their own thoughts rattling around in their heads.

_'Well that explains why he was never interested in me. He was more interested in the guys. I don't understand why someone so beautiful would do something as disgusting as having sex with another man for money. I thought I loved him at one time. He's revolting. Not because he's gay but because he's a prostitute.'_ JJ wanted to scream these words at someone, but there was only Emily standing there and she didn't think that Emily would understand.

_'La La La La… here we go again. Only now he has to drag Derek down with him. The vile nasty little person. The whore. The tart… the faggot! It's the whoring bit… but Derek… sorry, Spencer I don't believe that. I don't believe you. Liar Liar Liar!_'

o-o-o

Rossi took a few minutes to gather his thoughts and then went to talk to Flanders, who was sitting quietly and calmly in a room with three locks on the outside. He entered. No coffee, no smokes… not today. One of their own was dead… and they were going to find out why.

'What happened?' Rossi sat down the other side of the table to Floyd.

Floyd bit down on his bottom lip as though considering his reply. 'The battle was fought on a rainy spring afternoon. They stood there on the hill and looked down at the enemy, but though it was spring it was cold. They were all wet to the skin, their clothing waterlogged and hanging heavy on their thin, underfed, diseased frames. Some of them were without boots or even rough wooden shoes. The weeks of marching had worn them right off their blistered filthy feet. The sky grew darker and darker, lightening flashed over the other side of the small rise in the distance and lit up the sky like Angels were warning us to stop and the enemy at the foot of the hill drew back… they were retreating. This seemed good, but I knew otherwise. I knew it was a trap, but the officers batted not an eyelid at my remarks. They wouldn't listen to the Flanders mercenary. They knew better. So onwards they went, down the hill. The horses slipping in the mud, the cannon sliding and tumbling and crushing men before we'd even reached that small flat area at the foot of the hill. Men fell under horses and men on foot were trampled by their own who were trying not to move too fast, but were being hailed to run… they had to get there before it was dark.

'It was carnage. They hadn't expected that the small valley would have been full of water. They'd only been here before in high summer when the river was dry, and not only that, the enemy had drawn back into the mists and then circled around to the side. They were on flat land. They had archers with dry bowstrings. Arrows flew… they took down the first row of stumbling mud covered men in one screaming line of horror. The river turned red with the blood as the riders flew in with lances ready. I stood at the top of the hill and watched. I stood with the lords who had not wanted to get their clothes muddy and we watched the end… not the end of the war, but that battle… oh that battle… we lost every man except for the six of us; five lords and the Flanders Mercenary. Survivors… you may well ask! And I know you didn't but I'll tell you anyway, there were none. Men ran and died cowards with arrows in their backs; they fell under the weight of the armour and drowned in the bloody waters we had been trying to win. The enemy went amongst the men and hacked into them as they tried to crawl away. The six of us slipped away into the darkening spring evening… Though I'd not say I was a coward. I wasn't there to fight as such. I was there to issue advice. They didn't want to take it… they lost nearly two thousand men in about an hour. Unbelievable… wonderful… but unbelievable.'

Rossi rubbed his chin. Raised an eye brow. 'What has that got to do with Agent Derek Morgan?'

'What?' Floyd sat up straighter and raised his own eyebrows back at Rossi. 'Nothing. Absolutely nothing. You asked me what happened. I thought you were talking about the massacre of Salward Mount.'

'What?'

'The… oh never mind. All that drama and story telling for nothing. Derek Morgan… what happened indeed. I was sitting on a bench. I'd called Spencer to see if he was OK… I like to make sure he's all right you see? So I sat on the bench next to the call box. Do you realise how much I must have needed to hear his voice to have made a phone call? It's a very rare thing – however, Derek Morgan came along not long after I made that call, not more than an hour at least. I was poorly… don't look so sorry for me, I'm feeling a lot better now. Anyway, he took me to a side alleyway and he beat the shit out of me. Kicked me in the face, knee in the balls, the full works. No I didn't retaliate. Firstly I was more than a little bit shocked that he'd do such a thing. Surely that's against every regulation? But I was also a bit drunk and a bit high and the night before I'd been mugged. I told Morgan this. It didn't stop him from kicking and punching me until I couldn't move. So he's dead huh? Well I can't say I'm sorry, because I'm not. He was a nasty piece of work. I'm just sorry that Spencer had to go through what he did. Poor fucker.'

'Derek Morgan attacked you?' Rossi obviously didn't believe that.

'He had blood up the sleeve of the shirt he was wearing. My blood. He must have my DNA on his boots. Check it out and then check me out. You'll find nothing on me. Not a fucking thing, because I didn't fight him. I didn't give him that satisfaction. Yeah he kicked the shit out of me, but that means nothing because I never raised a finger against that man. He then apparently went to my place when he knew I wouldn't be there and virtually abducted my Spencer. Then he paid for sex. Then he dropped dead. I'm meant to be sorry or at least show an emotion about this? Well you're looking at the wrong person.'

The problem with this was that it was going to take a while to get test results back. There was an autopsy to be completed. DNA to be collected. Proof needed that Flanders had been there even though they had no proof that he had been. Spencer said Flanders wasn't there. The security camera didn't show anything unusual. Normally if Flanders had been involved there would be blank spots or lumps of time missing, or fuzzy wobbly parts where you couldn't see who was what, but on Derek's security tape there was nothing unusual at all. Garcia sat there watching over and over again as the pair of them arrived and went through Derek's door. Nothing else happened until Spencer bolted out of it again. There was nothing. Penelope hadn't cried yet. She could see that Prentiss and JJ had been crying. Their faces looked puffy and their eyes were red and there was that damp shocked look on their faces. Penelope had refused to cry. She had actually refused to accept what she had been told. She blamed herself of course. It was all her fault. She shouldn't have answered that call to Spencer. She should have had more backbone and ignored Derek's request for her to lie about things. This is where lies led you to… to disaster. To the worst possible outcome. Penelope sat and hugged a small pink, knitted bunny as she stared again and again at Derek walking through his front door with Spencer… each time she let out a small mewling sound… 'Don't do it Derek. Whatever it is you have planned, don't do it.' But each time the same happened; Spencer would burst out of that door with what appeared to be clothing in his arms and he would run and the next thing she would see were the EMT's arriving, then the body bag being taken out and each time it happened Garcia placed her fingers on the monitor and let out a whimper and the word 'no' and then she would go back to the beginning and start again. She was _not_ going to let this effect her. She was _not_ going to become a silly weeping woman. She was going to be strong… be strong for Derek.

Garcia had to tell Rossi about the phone call. She had to tell him that she had lied to Spencer and told him that the number was unavailable. She had to tell Rossi that Derek knew where Flanders was and had gone off looking for him. So far she'd not said anything. It didn't seem necessary, but Spencer would say something. Spencer would say. They would at least check Spencer's phone and find out who he had called. It was just such a mess. A horrible disgusting mess.

And it was all her fault.

She found Rossi making him self a coffee. He made one for Pen too and then turned to look at her pale distressed face. 'Did you find something?' He asked her.

Was it that obvious that she had something to say? To a profiler like Rossi she guessed it was and so she told him exactly what had happened. She told him of the phone call and that Derek told her to lie to Reid. She said that the phone call would be on the records. All incoming calls are recorded. It would all be there. She handed over her phone telling Rossi that she was far too close to this and had to step back. She confessed that she thought it was her fault. Everything was her fault. If only she had…

Rossi placed a tender hand on her arm. 'No one was to know this was going to happen. It's not your fault. Morgan shouldn't have gone looking for Flanders alone, but we know that Flanders didn't do this. He wasn't there.'

'No… no, but… if he'd not… if he'd not hurt Flanders, then he would never have gone to Spencer.'

'It would have made no difference. At least I don't think so. It was like a time bomb waiting to go off.'

'But… But this is all so…' Garcia sobbed out… 'horrible…'

'Yes, it's horrible… we need to wait. We can't make assumptions. We can easily accuse someone here. But that's not our job. We need to know for sure what happened and we wont know for a couple of hours at least. Sit tight.' The hand on Pen's arm tightened. 'Take a break. It's not your fault.'

o-o-o

Rossi sat with the lab results in his hand. Nothing there contradicted what Spencer or Flanders had said. It made him feel sick that it didn't. Still the autopsy still had to be done. Rossi was secretly hoping that something would come back to show that Morgan had been poisoned or such like, but he wasn't holding up much hope. As he had said to Garcia, he didn't think that anyone could have prevented what happened. Death by natural causes it will say. Rossi knew that, but for now he was sitting down looking at the results as Reid sat the other side of the table waiting for what it was Rossi was going to say.

'There was a condom.' The words were said with a sort of sick painful sigh. 'DNA…'

'I know what it will say. I was there.' Spencer tried to save Rossi from having to say what was written down.

Rossi nodded. 'There was blood on the bedding… yours.'

Spencer nodded. 'That's normal.'

Again Rossi nodded. 'So it would seem. There are no signs of foul play.'

'Why would there be?'

A shrug from both men this time. 'It…'

'I know what you're thinking and that's why I panicked and left. I was trying to protect Derek from all of this. I made a mistake.'

Rossi sighed and stood. 'We might need to talk to you again, but until then you can leave. Be careful Reid. The deeper you go the harder it is to climb out of again.'

'I'm already in too deep. I've been in too deep for many years.' Spencer could feel that the pain killers were wearing off. His feet were beginning to throb. 'I've no where to run to any more.' He crossed his arms tightly around his chest and closed his eyes.

Rossi sat the other side of the table to Floyd now. Again he had a bit of paper in his hands. Again he was going to have to let Flanders go. It hurt to have to do so, even though there was absolutely no proof that Flanders had anything to do with this.

'Toxicology reports aren't back yet. We are waiting to hear what it was that killed Morgan.'

'It's a blessing that it was quick.' Floyd said kindly.

Rossi nodded. 'There was blood on clothing in the washing hamper. Your blood. There was also blood on his boots… again it matched.'

'Uh hu. Well that's not a surprise to me, but it seems to be to you.' Floyd placed his hand on the table, palms down. 'You really didn't expect to find anything did you?'

David Rossi looked at Floyd directly. He took in the slightly tired expression on Flanders' face, or was it a bored expression. There didn't seem to be any amusement there though. 'Sadly I did. I was hoping I would be wrong and I'm hoping that the results of the autopsy will give us a clue as to why Morgan acted the way he did.'

'The way he did? You mean like a spiteful queer? He acted that way, because that's what he was.' Now Floyd leaned over the table slightly. 'I knew that he had been having an affair with Spencer. I knew all about it. That was why I took Spencer and Sam away to that shop. I thought that it would be healing for us. Give us time to pull back together and to forgive. I'm a surprisingly forgiving person when it comes to my boys. However things didn't work out. Sam ran away, Spencer hated it, so I brought Spencer back here again, and this is what happens. The man wouldn't leave me alone. He wouldn't leave Spencer alone. He wanted what was mine.'

'Reid isn't a possession.' Rossi snapped at Floyd.

Floyd stood and smiled. 'You know so little. Ask him. Ask Spencer. He will tell you who he belongs to. Can I go now? I'll not be suing the Feds for what Morgan did to me. I could. I could sue the fucking lot of you for harassment. Leave me the fuck alone. Leave Spencer alone. If you want to get your nose in my business, do something of use and find Sam, though I think he will be home again real soon. I can feel it in my water. Now if you'll excuse me, I think I'll be leaving. You know my home address. We are moving soon and I can see no reason to forward you the details. We need peace. I request that you stop jumping on my fucking back every time something goes wrong. But then again if there is something you wish to consult with me about, a murder which you can't solve or such, then I'm happy to help. I'm an expert on serial killings, rape, paedophilia, necrophilia, kidnap and cannibalism.' Floyd grinned. 'Just add anything you fucking well like to the list. I'm sure you'll find something… oh… incest; add that one too if you will.'


	47. Chapter 47

47

Nailing Spencer back to the lounge floor wasn't going to be a good idea. The boy had his needs. He thought about nailing him to the bathroom floor and letting Spencer sit on the toilet, but then his arse was safe from all invasions and that wasn't any good either. For now Spencer was chained to the radiator in the bathroom. There was enough length in the chair for Spencer to reach the toilet for all his personal needs and there was even enough chain there to let him shower… Watching a mad covered in cuts and bruises, washing his shaking body whilst having a chain attached to his ankle is almost enough to rip your clothes off and join him.

But only almost.

Floyd did move in though before Spencer turned on the water. He held him close with his own hands one on each of Spencer's buttocks – squeezing and kneading with fingertips – Spencer's hands were at his side, fingers twitching… Floyd moved back slightly and smiled at his prisoner. Spencer tried his best to smile back but stopped trying when Floyd spat a lovely lump of glob onto Spencer's face. He didn't wipe it off. He waited until Floyd had left the room and then he turned on the water and clanking his chains like a ghost he washed that part of his face first.

Floyd sat on the couch with his feet over the holes in the flooring. Fucking Spencer had messed up his floor now! He would have to pay for that…in blood… later. His lovely floor. Decisions had to be made and as the lovely apartment in New York… overlooking central park, had been for Spencer's pleasure, and as he no longer considered Spencer as someone who deserved pleasure then he'd find something else. It would be away from here. It would also be in a city, but maybe just outside of one. Time to contact Sam and ask him what it was _he_ wanted. As there was no pleasing Spencer, there was no point in even trying…

There was a crashing bang from upstairs.

'He fell over!' Floyd snorted a laugh. 'Stupid fuck… better check on that… later.'

Back to ruminations of a happier sort. No point in trying to please Spencer, and he could never please himself, so he would ask Sam.

'Sam! Sammy-Boy! Get your arse in here and stop playing silly buggers. You've broken my kitchen window you little fuck! Get home now. Get back here.'

There was no answer. Sam wasn't going to go running just because he'd been called, but Sam could walk, or even jog… and he could smile!

Floyd in the meantime slipped to his knees, planted his elbows on his thighs, his head in his hands and he did the equivalent of praying. Only it wasn't really a prayer, it was more of a list of demands.

'I need a place to stay. I need to be secure. I need to be free. I need my boys with me. I have to have my boys with me. I demand that it's permitted. Find me somewhere … somewhere unknown. Somewhere secret… somewhere maybe forgotten. I will stay there for the ten years with Spencer and Sam… Only ten years. That's all he has. Let them be the most miserable ones he's had so far.' He wiped a bit of sweat off his forehead. Having to beg always brought him out in a shock of sweat. Now all he could do was wait. They would answer him. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but they would answer him… The reason they would is because Floyd was going to nag them until they _did_ answer him.

o-o-o

Floyd had refused to let Spencer have clothing, but he did leave towels for him. He had chained him by the right ankle to a pipe which went from the radiator down under the floor. He had water from the faucets which he could drink. He had food on a plate which he wasn't even slightly tempted to eat. It was boiled rabbit. Floyd had be gracious and given Spencer the head, complete with the boiled fur and boiled out eye sockets looking at him from the head… and only the head. Floyd said he'd roasted the rest, had it with spuds and greens… had syllabub and sugared plumbs for his desserts and some marchpane. Spencer had for a while wondered if Floyd was being serious, but he was. He was deadly serious and deadly insane.

The floor vibrated and the boiled rabbit head wobbled in the brown jelly goo it was sitting it. Spencer sat staring at it. He didn't _want_ to, but it was like some spirit of the rabbit was coming back to life to seek vengeance on the one who took its life and then took its head – if indeed it was done in that order. He watched the plate rattle on the white tiled floor. And then heard things falling and smashing downstairs. Now his eyes could leave the rabbit and he was looking at the door wobbling and shaking in the frame. 'No…' Spencer moaned out. It was like that night… it was like the night something came for him… it was back. 'Floyd…' Floyd would protect him from it. Even though Floyd was pissed with him right now, he would protect him! He would protect him! 'Floyd!' Spencer got to his feet, took two lumbering limping steps forwards, the chain caught and he was flat on his face, the rabbit head staring at him and wobbling at him a few inches from his face… And the crashing and smashing carried on.

o-o-o

Floyd could hear things crashing around him. The small display thing on the wall was now a small display thing on the floor. The glasses in the drinks cabinet were rattling and he suspected that many had broken. A picture dropped off the wall and bounced once on the wooden floor before topping face down, the frame falling apart at the joints. The kitchen seemed to be collapsing. Plaster fell on Floyd's head as he stayed kneeling and muttering under his breath, sometimes it was for Sam to come home and sometimes it was for someone to send him a divine message of the perfect place to hide out for a decade. 'Sam… come on… stop fucking about.' It would have been easier if he'd not drowned Sam in the first place. It would have been easier if he'd not sent Spencer after him to bring him back… it would have been easier if he was still living out in the woods in an old gardeners cottage with his princess. All she ever wanted was things to unwrap. She was easy to please. But Spencer killed her. Spencer ruined that too.

'What do you want?'

Well that voice made Floyd jump. It made Spencer jump too… and probably everyone within a mile radius of the small battered lounge. Floyd looked slowly to his side with eyes narrowed and a harsh ringing in his ears. 'Not so loud.' He whispered in demonstration.

'What do you want?' The voice spoke again. It was a voice… not much of a person… A shaft of light? A bubbling warbling shrilling light, which would leave an after glow on Floyd's retinas for quite a while.

'Turn off the damned light. You're going to blind me.' Floyd snapped ungratefully at the _thing_ standing there.

'What do you want?' And though the voice now was quieter it hadn't changed the monotone drone of the words.

'You know what I want. I want to be able to go back to The Old Woman. I want…'

There was a snapping crackling sound and the room was again in a silent darkness. Was that it? He'd not asked for everything! He'd not finished! The bastards! He was going to demand a nice place to live, Sam, Spencer… and to be left alone by the Feds, but he only got one demand – one request out… and the fucker was gone again. 'Cunt.' Floyd muttered and got off his knees. 'This is why I get on my knees for no man, unless there is a dick on offer.' Floyd groaned as he slipped back onto the couch again.

'And what can you offer me if I decide to come back to you?' A snarl in Floyd's ear. Had be been sleeping? He thought maybe he had… very rare, but not totally unknown.

He turned his head to look at a filthy dirt smeared thing sitting on the couch next to him… sitting with its legs crossed and looking down inspecting its fingernails.

'Oh I can offer you… a bath.' Floyd told Sam.

'Rose scented water? I want rose scented water. I want rose petals. I want…'

'I'm already bored of your demands. Shut up.' Floyd snapped at the thing. 'You look barely human. What's going on with you?'

'I have been given the gift of super powers. I could be my own comic book hero.'

'Stinko-Man… kills by exuding a smell so vile it will burn out your nose hairs. Not very useful.' Floyd reached out and touched Sam on the arm. He was skinny and his skin was covered in sores and cuts. They made Floyd feel thirsty. They made him want to go and enjoy a bit of Spencer. He let out a long sigh and inspected Sam's miserable face.

'You think you're so fucking funny, don't you? I'll not forgive you for what you did to me. That was really nasty.'

'Well yeah… but the wheel turns. Here you are back again and happy as always. No hard done in the end. Did they take good care of you? I went to look for you. Az said you'd not been there.'

Sam swivelled around so that he was kneeling on the couch sideways. The anger on his face was apparent. And Floyd ignored it. The brat was constantly angry. 'They sent me somewhere and dug bits out of my brain. They said I had abscesses on my brain. They shaved my head and locked me in a cell with people who eventually died… I was the only one left! It was horrific. I didn't even know who I was. I didn't know where I was. I was dying and there was no one there for me.'

'Your hair grew back… so stop whining.' Floyd stroked at Sam's long dark hair.

'It's not about that! It's about me being alone and having time to think that I might not want to be with you. I don't trust you.'

Floyd gave his eyebrows a little work out and then nodded slowly. 'Sam, Sam, my dear little misguided sweetypie, you are me. You are created from a bit of me, like Eve came from Adam's rib.'

'Who?' Sam's face was still angry but it had a puzzled look on it now too.

'You are made from me. Do you see what that means?'

'I have absolutely no fucking clue… I'm your clone, but I can still have my own life.'

Floyd grabbed Sam by the shoulders now and pulled him closer. 'You have no soul. You can't survive if I don't want you to. I can destroy you with a flick of my finger. I can just _think_ you out of existence if that's what I wish to do and then I can drag you all the way back again. You are like… I dunno… how can I put this to you? You are like a growth, or a blow up dolly. You are my toy. I can pack you in a trunk when I'm bored with you and I can get you out and dust of the cobwebs when I want to play. It's really that simple. You are not your own person. You are my own person. You are my little cunt-boy. You know that. You might try to pretend that you are more than that, but you have no moral fibre in your body. You can't have. You need a soul to be able to feel real pain and horror and fear… you need a soul to be able to empathise with someone… without empathy you are a sociopath. A monster.'

'Well thanks a bunch. Can I have a bath?'

Floyd nodded. 'Go have a nice soak. Ignore Spencer. I've got him chained up in the bathroom. And I think that there are a nice pair of silver coloured leather biker pants in the trunk in up in your room.'

'Really?' Sam jumped down off the couch. 'Like those lovelies I had in hell?'

A smile and a nod. 'Identical. Go get that stink off you. I have some tidying up to do… and keep your arse and mouth away from Spencer, at least until I'm there to watch.'


	48. Chapter 48

48

Spencer was sitting with his back against the wall. He had a towel wrapped around his middle and pushed down between his legs as he bent his knees up and wrapped his arms around his shins. The rabbit head was still sitting there, but there had been no more crashing sounds from downstairs. All seemed calm again. He heard the footsteps coming up the stairs and he looked up as the door swung open. He'd been expecting Floyd. He wanted more painkillers for his feet and for his head, but that wasn't Floyd standing there, unless Floyd had lost a few inches in height and had taken a mud bath… For a moment Spencer didn't know who it was! Then the eyes… those damned eyes. Sam.

'Well, well, well – Floyd said you were here, but I'm not allowed to blow you so calm down and don't flap your parts at me. I need a bath.'

Spencer said nothing. He watched though. He watched the nasty naked creature start to run water into the tub. He thought Sam was gone. He hoped Sam… he hoped that Sam was gone, but in another way he was glad he was back. It was a whole babble of conflicting thoughts and emotions as he sat in silence and watched Sam prepare his bath water. Spencer watched Sam add pink liquid to the water… rose scented bubble bath into the steaming hot water, then he watched Sam slowly lower himself into the tub. He would have offered to scrub his back for him, but Spencer seemed to have been cursed with some sort of _temptation_ which meant he couldn't keep his hands or mind off the male form. His stomach was heaving and churning as he sat and watched Sam scrub at his body.

'Happy to see me? You can talk to me you know. Just don't touch.'

Spencer gave a small nod and closed his eyes. 'I'm glad you're back.' He wasn't sure if that was a lie or not. 'Actually I wish you'd never been gone.'

Sam wiped bubbles off his face with his fingers and flicked some in Spencer's direction. 'So you've been a bad boy huh? Floyd's way pissed off with you. He's so fucked off I've never seen him so annoyed.'

'You've missed a lot of Floyd's mood swings then.' Spencer snapped back at Sam. 'This is nothing. This is just something to keep me in place until he's decided exactly what it is he wants to do to me.'

Sam smiled, but the smile didn't reach his eyes. It was a cold spiteful smile. 'And what do you think he wants to do to you? He's got me to play with now. He's finally realised who it is he needs, and it sure as a fuck in a dumpster isn't you! He's called me back! I'm _that_ special to him. I think you're just going to be something for him to beat up on when he's bored… but maybe he wont get bored now I'm home again?'

Spencer looked away from Sam and down to his lap. That temptation to watch and touch and suddenly become a temptation to drown in his stupid rose smelling bath water. 'There's hope for me yet.' Spencer snarled back at Sam. The silly child. The stupid senseless boy. He wanted Sam to hurry up and leave him alone. Go and have his fun and games with Floyd if that's what he wanted… and with those thoughts in his mind, Floyd burst through the bathroom door, snatched up the plate with the rabbit head on it, tossed it out of the room and slammed the door shut again with his foot. This wasn't good. Spencer knew this wasn't going to be good. Floyd had taken his boots off and was in the process of removing his jeans.

Floyd and Sam made a mess. The mess was mostly bubbles and water, but it still managed to get Spencer very wet. The water seemed to go everywhere… Sam seemed to go in every position he could without putting his head under the water… And though Spencer didn't _want_ to watch… at least he kept trying to tell himself that he didn't want to… he watched and couldn't stop watching. It was like a smellovision porn movie going on within feet of his nose. Spencer knew that Sam knew he was watching closely… Spencer also wondered if Floyd had even remembered that he was sitting there watching. There was no eye contact, not like the way Sam kept staring over at him with that look of complete victory on his face. Why did everyone think that everyone else belonged to someone? Why did they have to keep this fighting and claiming up? What the heck was wrong with everyone?

Sam slithered and slipped from the bathroom after Floyd had stood Sam on the soggy bathmat and dried him, oiled him, kissed every part of him he could get his tongue on and then Floyd turned to Spencer. 'That is how a man should love another, not by going off getting something as soon as his partner's back is turned.' Floyd dropped to his knees and slid over to Spencer, he whipped the towel away from Reid and just knelt there grinning. 'I'm thirsty.' Floyd muttered now as he pushed Spencer's knees apart and moved in as close as he could get. He ran a tongue over the side of Spencer's neck, over that wound which Floyd just wouldn't allow to heal. 'Sam is beautiful, but he doesn't come close to you.' Floyd spoke into Spencer's ear. 'Sam is like looking at what I would have looked like at that age.'

Spencer finally found his voice as he ran fingers through Floyd's wet hair. 'No, I remember you when you at least looked to be that age, and Sam doesn't come close to you either. He's a very poor copy.'

'I can do all this to you and you still want me?'

There was a small shrug from Spencer. 'I'm not permitted anything else. Sometimes you have to take what's on offer or go without.'

An insult? Had Spencer just insulted him? Floyd pulled back slowly from Spencer's neck where he'd been licking and cleaning the sore – getting it ready… 'You know you can't lie to me.' Floyd told Spencer, 'so I need the truth or I'll feed from your damned balls and not your neck.'

'Why would I lie to you?' Spencer spoke clearly, but with ice cold emotion.

'I'll know if you do. Anyway, what I was going to ask was, would you take Sam if I wasn't around to stop you? Taking all things into consideration, you know? The lack of me threatening to torture you and the lack of me to distract you from Sam… if he was on offer…'

'Yes.' Spencer groaned. He expected a kicking for that, but just got a smile and a hand tenderly placed on his shoulder.

'Good. I would hate to think that something I desire so much is repulsive to you. But you will be in such trouble, my dear, if you so much as give Sam a suggestion that you'd want him.'

Spencer nodded. 'Stop thrusting him at me. Stop putting us together. I'm not the same person who you tempted when I was a boy. I'm not that person any longer. You wanted me to be a slut and a whore. You told me often enough that I am, so I guess finally I've accepted that. I'll tell you this too, and you'll still know if I'm lying. I don't want you, but I can see that you are all I'm ever going to have.'

Sometimes asking someone to tell the truth isn't such a cool idea. Sometimes the truth isn't really what you want to hear. It certainly wasn't what Floyd wanted to hear. He grabbed Spencer by the hair and smacked his head on the white bathroom tiles. He slit open that wound on his neck and sucked and licked at the blood. He then stood and stamped with spite down onto Spencer's feet and when Spencer was shaking and quivering with the pain Floyd threw the whore onto his front and took him. Spencer struggled. He tired to get away. He attempted to smack Floyd with the toilet brush, but it ended suddenly when the toilet brush was snatched from Spencer's hand and inserted somewhere.

'You fuck!' Floyd shouted at Spencer. 'You damned shit! After everything I've done. If you only knew!'

'But I don't!' Spencer hissed back at Floyd as he reached behind him and removed the brush with his teeth clenched and his eyes watering. 'Maybe if you explained. Maybe if you tried to tell me exactly what is going on in your head, but I don't know! I just know that you despise me but wont let me go. I know you don't love me!'

'I fucking do!' Floyd shouted out as his toes kicked at Spencer's ribs. 'I do! That's the bloody problem you stupid arsehole! That's the damned problem. It used to be greed and lust and now it's not! It's changed.' He sat on the edge of the tub and pulled out the plug. 'Everything has changed. I've changed, you've changed, Sam has changed… and I blame you. I put all of that on your shoulders because until I was sent to you and until I knew what you were and where this was going, you were just an arse I wanted to fuck! I could get a sweet backside anywhere I damned pleased, but you had to come along and twist my head and screw with my mind… why the hell do you think I have to hurt you! You've destroyed me! I used to be special. I never used to feel hot of cold. I didn't have to eat or drink or sleep. I could fucking teleport! I could go to The Old Woman or to _them_ and it was never a problem! I could force people to do things just by suggestion! And that's all fucking gone! And you've taken it from me. You've whittled away at me until I'm just this… this thing… this thing who can undo locks and bypass security, but I'm…'

'How did I do that to you?' Spencer pulled the towel back over him, trying to ignore the blood mixing with the soapy water on the floor.

'You made me love you!' Floyd howled at Spencer. 'You made me replace some of what I had with something else. Good things… good stuff costs a lot. I've paid and yes I'm pissed with you! I don't want these feelings…' His voice lowered to a growling hiss. 'I don't know what to do with them… I don't know how to deal with them. I feel like my head is full of this shit and I'm wading through it trying to find what I used to be and how things were and I can't. I can't do it. What are we going to do, Spencer? I can't trust you not to run off with someone. I can't trust you not to fiddle with Sam. I can't trust you not to top yourself if you're feeling grieved. I can't trust that you'll be there when I need you.'

This caused a rise in Spencer's eyebrows. This weird confession which he knew Floyd would forget all about in an hour or less. Probably less. Floyd had lost the plot, Sam never had a plot and Spencer's own plot had been dug over and replanted so many times that it was no longer recognisable. He wanted to tell Floyd that he would leave Sam alone, but couldn't promise it. He wanted to tell Floyd that he would always be there for him, but couldn't promise that either. Spencer wanted to tell Floyd that he loved him… again, he didn't know.

'One minute I am so in love with you that I feel that I couldn't breathe if you are out of my sight. The next moment I am so terrified of you that I want to puke. The strange thing is that I don't care if you kill me. I'm waiting for you. Not waiting for you to make love to me or hold me or comfort me, but waiting for you to finish it for me. Then… then I'm lost without you.'

Floyd ran his hand across his mouth and slipped back to sit on his heels. 'We are all bonkers.' He stated.

'Certainly. I would have been if you'd shown up or not. My mental health ultimately would have failed. You just caused it to slip in a way no one could have predicted. Sam…' Spencer shrugged and shook his head. '… sanity isn't something which comes naturally to him. He seems to have been created to cause trouble, but there's something vulnerable and weak; something which makes me need to protect him. He's as crazy as us. We are so far gone now that I don't see that we can be fixed. I'm not going into hospital. I have enough sanity left to know that much. I have enough sanity to be able to feel the guilt. I'm holding onto that for now. When that's gone, and when I no longer feel guilt or remorse and my empathy has slipped so far down that it's irretrievable, then you can lock me away.'

'Then I will kill you.' Floyd told Spencer kindly. 'But I will feel lost without you and I'll just drag you back to me again and each time you've changed. A bit of you has altered or gone missing. We have ten years to sort this shit out. Ten years. That's not long.'

Spencer sighed and leaned his head back onto the bathroom wall. 'So what are we going to do?'

'I will pray.' Floyd grabbed at the clothes he'd removed earlier and stood. 'I will pray for guidance.'

'What are you _really_ going to do?'

Floyd held his things in front of him and crouched down again. 'I just said – I'm going to pray. I will ask what is to be done, because this is no longer within my control. I want my shit back Spencer. I want to be what I used to be. I'm just this fucking normal old git now.'

'A normal old git, is something you'll never be… whether my bladder is releasing it self in fear or my heart stops pounding when I look at you… normal… not a word I'd use to describe you. Psychopath maybe.'

A kiss on the nose for Spencer. 'Are you thirsty?' Floyd held up his wrist to Spencer.

'Another road we should never _ever_ had walked down. Drinking blood? What is that all about, Floyd?'

'It's all about us being so close that when you die I will have to consume you.'

'Comforting.' Spencer smiled and grabbed a hold of Floyd's wrist.

o-o-o

Music could be heard from downstairs. A thumping thump of club sounds. Sam was back and letting the neighbourhood know about it. Floyd came down stairs alone. He had left Spencer chained up in the bathroom at least for now. At least until he could get his head around what the hell was going on with himself and with everyone around him. He turned off the music system and looked at Sam who had just been standing in the middle of the chaos looking at his feet and bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet. He looked up a few seconds after the music stopped and a few seconds following that, the bouncing stopped. He had on the silver trousers Floyd had told him about and he'd paired it with a pair of pink boots and a pink mesh top. Floyd wasn't sure if Sam looked awesome or ridiculous… he did know that he could smell him and now that smell was sweet.

'You smell delicious.' Floyd informed Sam as he began to pick stuff up off the floor. He hung the picture back up and then got bored of tidying and went for drink. Many of the glasses had shattered as he'd thought they would have, but his lucky tumbler was safe. He filled the glass with whiskey and then turned to look at Sam again who was muttering something under his breath. 'What's wrong now?'

Sam did a one shouldered shrug and let out a sigh. 'You hate me.' Sam told Floyd. 'You don't think I look good.'

Floyd chugged back a big mouthful of drink and then smiled. 'Sam you look lovely. I don't hate you. I called you to me.'

'I'm nothing to you.' Sam moaned. 'And I'm hungry.'

Floyd pointed towards the kitchen. 'Food is in there. I'm not going over how I feel about you because, Sam I'm a bit confused.'

'You're constantly drunk.' Sam walked towards the kitchen. 'That's why you can't think or make up your mind. That's why I was tortured and had my brain cut around. That's why they shaved my head and gave me anal inspections… A whole fist.'

'Then it wasn't all bad.' Another swig of drink.

'And you're not going to get me something to eat? You're just going to stand here with all this shit around you and get pissed out of your brain and then you'll take it out on me again and go sobbing to Spencer about how complicated life is and how fucking hard done by you are, but it's _me_ who is hard done by! It's me! It's not you at all.'

'Next time I'll drown you in the toilet, before I flush. I'm not cooking for you. I've provided everything else.'

'AND! And I know what those marks are on Spencer. I know what your doing to him.'

Floyd had no time for this now. He had to tidy this mess up. He hated sitting amongst chaos and mess he'd not personally made. But first he was going to drink this drink and sit on the couch and if life was still such a bitch when he had done all of that he might start hurting people. Yet before all of that he did something which made Sam frown in surprise or maybe even slight awe… Floyd made a telephone call. He reported that Sam was home again safe and well and they could come and check up on him if they wanted to. He placed the phone down and then pulled the cord out of the wall. That would keep things quiet for now. 'There's pizza in the freezer and some fries.' He told Sam. 'And whilst you're out there you can knock me up something to eat too… you owe me. I brought you back from hell.'

Sam stomped from the room. He loved Floyd and he hated him at the same time. He didn't _want_ to make Floyd a pizza, but he did anyway. He didn't _want_ to make coffee and get out bowls for ice cream, but he did that too. He even got something out for Spencer. He felt angry and miserable. What was the point in being here if he was just a little slave? What the hell was the point in being alive if he had to be Floyd's servant? It wasn't fair! He slammed doors, dropped plates, threw mugs, spat on Floyd's pizza and had a general tantrum. Then he walked calmly back into the lounge where Floyd was laying on the floor smoking and he placed a plate on his bare belly. 'You'll get splinters where no one will want to get them out for you if you're not careful. I've made Spencer some food.'

'Spencer had rabbit. If he didn't eat it then he goes hungry.'

'He'll die. People have to have food. Even animals have to eat.' And anyway Sam wanted to look like he was being kind. 'I've made him pizza and fries like we've got.'

'Did you gob all over Spencer's pizza too?' Floyd asked Sam's backside as it swayed back out through the door. 'Dirty little fuck.' But it didn't stop Floyd from eating it. He'd eaten far worse than Sam's spit in the past.

So he had his boys. They were mostly in his control and now he wanted to take them out and show them off. Floyd lay on the floor eating his pizza trying to work out if he wanted to take them both out and screw them, take them both out and watch them… and his thoughts slammed shut there. He pushed up onto one elbow and smirked a happy smirk. 'Problem solved.' He sighed in happiness.

o-o-o

'Eeww.' Sam moaned.

The three of them stood outside a place called "Dark Side"

'This looks like a Goth place.' Spencer pointed out. There were youths mixing around smoking cigarettes. They all wore black and they all had too much makeup on… boys and girls… a miserable bunch of wannabes. Some of them turned to look at the three of them standing there. Sam didn't want to go in. Sam was wearing pink and silver. Had he known where they were coming on this _surprise_ date he would have changed his clothes so that he fitted in better. Spencer would have tried to persuade Floyd that they should go somewhere else and he wouldn't have had on brown cords and a black Tshirt. 'Why here?' Spencer said as he reached out and snatched up Floyd's hand and held it tight. A sign not of worry or panic, but of ownership. He could see they way some of those people were looking at Floyd.

'You'll see.' Floyd told them both. 'It's going to be great. Before we go in though, remember that you are not to wander off. Stay with me.'

'I can look after myself.' Sam spat at Floyd.

'That's as maybe, but you're mine and I want everyone to know that.' And now Floyd gripped Sam's hand. They were his and he was going to have a damned good and maybe illegal time with them tonight.

It was dark inside and rock music pounded and made the floor vibrate. It was also packed with people all trying to look different and ending up looking the same. Dyed black hair, pale faces and black clothes… for the most part and Sam stood out like a neon sign. Spencer squeezed Floyd's hand tighter. They were being watched. They looked out of place, at least Spencer and Sam looked out of place, Floyd seemed quite at home and comfortable here. The reason for that was heard by Spencer when they finally made it through the pulsating crowds of people to the bar.

'Your usual?' The barkeep asked Floyd, who nodded and ordered two more for his companions.

'You've been here before?' Sam asked as he looked around. 'You've been here before and you didn't think to warn me that I'd look like a complete arsehole? Why didn't you say I should change?'

Floyd wrapped an arm around Sam's shoulders and pushed a drink towards him. 'Because you like to look good, and you look fabulous. Why change?'

'Because as I said, I look like an arsehole.'

Spencer grinned inwardly. At least his own clothing was fairly dark. Sam was positively glowing and not in the way Sam would want to be. Spencer gave the place a better look now. It wasn't a place where you get up on the dance floor and wiggle around. It was a place where you slunk in dark corners and tried to look dangerous. He could see why Floyd liked it here. He could fit right in without any need to dress up. The building was divided up by open panels. There were dark corners everywhere with dark moody people sitting in them.

Sam thought it looked crappy and fake, but he also thought it looked like the sort of place he could enjoy if he'd been allowed to, but Floyd had tricked him by giving him silver and pink and now of course he'd never be able to come back here again and not be laughed out of the place. Everyone was staring at him! Everyone… even the ones with their backs turned and even the ones who seemed to be looking at Floyd… all of them… sideways glances and mocking looks.

'I don't like it here.' Sam groaned.

'You're going to love it once we find somewhere to sit.'

Spencer gestured around the place. 'There's no where to sit here. No one will give up a seat. This place is probably operating beyond the legal limits. There are far too many people in here and I can't see a fire exit.'

Floyd rubbed his thumb over Spencer's hand. He loved this Spencer. The Spencer who calculated how many people were in a place. The Spencer who always looked for the fire exit and the restrooms. He loved this over cautious beautiful Spencer and everyone was looking at him. They were laughing at Sam, but they were surely admiring Spencer whose eyes were huge with worry and glowing with the inner radiance which made Floyd's blood flow to all of the right places. 'Don't worry. We'll get somewhere to sit.' Floyd released Sam's hand for a moment and pointed over into one of the darkest corners of the room. 'Right there. Right over there.'

Sam and Spencer both watched as they pushed and squeezed their way forwards. They watched the six people, two of each gender, stand and give Floyd a small nod. They moved back out of the way and gave up their seating. They gave Sam a funny look and raised their plucked eyebrows and gave Sam a nod too. Spencer was mostly ignored by them. Only one female seemed to glance at Spencer who was trying his hardest to stand behind Floyd and not be seen. This place had a funny smell to it. A rich almost meaty smell. It wasn't the sort of aroma which made you want to stick around for too long.

The three of them moved in and sat. Floyd in the middle and his boys either side. 'You've been here before?' Sam shouted over the noise of the music.

'Evidently.' Spencer replied. 'You actually seem to have a reputation for something. I'm trying to work out what it is.'

Floyd smirked. He wanted to grin. He wanted to show Spencer and Sam how happy he was to be able to bring his boys here and not have to worry that they'll run away, but grinning would ruin his cold, dangerous reputation so he just did a half smirk and then tapped Sam on the knee. 'Get under the table.'

Sam frowned, looked down at the dark sticky floor and shook his head. 'Fuck _off_.'

'Get down there and blow me.' As he spoke Spencer let out a small yelp of surprise… a thumb nail was digging in to his neck… 'This is going to be one of the most wondrous things you've ever experienced. Once Sam has done me, he'll move to you.'

'No I wont.' Sam hissed as he crawled into place under the table.

'I will drink from you and then you can refuel from me.'

'Ah.' Spencer nodded as though this was all normal. This sort of thing happened every day. Nothing strange going on here! Just getting a blow job and drinking blood! Very normal. 'Someone will report us. It's an illegal act. Sexual acts in public… Oh god… Floyd… please… you shouldn't be doing that.'

'I don't want to do this. I don't want to be a light hidden under the table. I want to…'

'I've got drugs. You do as you're told and you'll be floating in your sparkly heroin heaven when we get home.'

Sam needed no more persuasion. He did as he was told, like a donkey would follow a carrot, like a warrior would follow orders, like a junky would do anything for his next fix… Sam obliged very nicely.


	49. Chapter 49

49

It would have been a lovely end to the strange evening if Sam had gone to his own room and Spencer had spent a nice cuddly night with Floyd in his own bed, but that's not quite what happened. Spencer was treated like a prince and Sam like a princess until they walked through the front door of their cosy little house and Floyd saw all the mess. His happy mood dipped into a sullen sulk. It wasn't his mess and he didn't feel inclined to clean it up. However nor was it Spencer's or Sam's mess… at least not in the hallway and he didn't think Sam would be able to re-glaze the kitchen window. So the mood went from happy and contented to a deep miserable and dark hate. Spencer was chained to the radiator in the bathroom again. He was allowed to keep his clothes, but he was given no reason for this action. Spencer asked. He was virtually on his knees begging Floyd not to chain him up again. He said that he'd do anything Floyd wanted… and the floor was covered in bloody soapy puddles, but the chain was put back on again and the door slammed and locked from the outside. The other thing which Floyd did which let Spencer see that Floyd still had a bit of a hold on reality, was that Floyd left the bathroom light on for him. And Spencer hadn't had to ask. Floyd's hand had grabbed at the pull cord for the light and then he removed it without pulling. Floyd had left the light of for Spencer.

This showed Spencer that Floyd was thinking of him… maybe loving him in his own odd way. Spencer wiped up as much water as he could and sat for the night on a dry patch. He didn't think that he would have slept, but Floyd had been plying him with drinks all night and some of those drinks had a strange fuzzy, woozy sort of after-taste. If those drinks weren't spiked with something then they were out of date – but Spencer finally did fall asleep and he had dreams of running away from something which kept snagging at his ankles and pulling him over.

Sam maybe thought that because he watched Floyd chain Spencer up that he'd won the little battle of the arses, but he was wrong as well. Floyd handed over what he had offered Sam earlier and told him to go to his own room. Floyd told them both that he would be spending his night in prayer… Which made Sam scream and snort snot out of his nose…

'I will be spending my night in prayer and don't want to be disturbed.'

'You're all ready fucking disturbed if you are going to pray. Who are you praying for? Some lost soul you want back again? Az? You praying for little Azzy Wazzy who is trapped in hell and will never have a life again because you chose to wreck his life…'

'I will…' Floyd said again, '…be spending my night in prayer… I don't want to be disturbed.'

'So you've said.' Sam walked away towards his room. 'I wont disturb you, but I was hoping that you'd give me something. I've been handing out my party favours all damned night and I got nothing but a funny taste in my mouth.'

Floyd nodded sagely. He was feeling wise tonight. He was also feeling very tingly. 'Not tonight Sam. There are toys in my bedside drawer if you don't mind that they've been used.'

'Why would I care? It's not like every dick I have stuffed in me belongs to a virgin.'

Floyd gestured towards his room. 'Hurry up and grab what you want and before you put it back, wash it…'

'Or I can get you to lick it.' Sam smirked… a mirror image of Floyd's smirk.

'I said I didn't want to be disturbed. You stuffing a dripping dirty boytoy in my face will be classed as a stage one disturbance.'

So that's how it was for that night. Spencer slept wearing the same clothes he'd had on for their great night out… he woke up sore, stiff, damp and in dire need of a smoke and a coffee. The coffee was an expected need, but the smoke? Not so expected. A nasty habit. He'd picked up so many nasty habits since this relationship became more of a partnership and less of something being forced on him.

Sam spent his night with his lower body and torso on the bed, but his upper torso hanging over the side of the bed, his arms bent and folded neatly and the top of his head resting on the floor. He'd been very sick. He had started puking in the bed and then had tried to get off the bed and this where he was now was as far as he had managed to get. In his confused drugged up bubble of a mind he was laying on the grass outside in the garden. He could feel the wet grass under his hands and he could feel it on his face. It was when he came round and woke up properly in the morning that he realised that it wasn't cool damp grass he could feel, but his vomit covered hair. Nice! Lovely thing to wake up to.

Floyd spent his night kneeling on the floor downstairs in the lounge. He'd thought of doing this upstairs but didn't want to make a mess up there as well as down here, so he returned to the place he'd knelt in before, purely for practical reasons… it was clear of most junk, and he again rested his head in his hands and prayed (made demands) because last time whoever had come to see him hadn't waited long enough.

'I need to talk to someone about this mess. I have to have back what you've taken from me. I can't live being only half the person – being – that I was previously. You can't just take everything like that! I'm doing what you asked me to do. I'm taking care of Spencer and keeping him safe. I'm controlling Sam and keeping him as happy as it is possible, but what do I get in return! I need my candy!'

This was repeated and went on constantly until birds began to sing. Floyd's feet had gone numb, his throat hurt and no one had come to talk to him. He was being ignored. He didn't want to stay here. He didn't know where the hell to go. Spencer and Sam both seemed to want city life and he personally wanted peace and quiet. There seemed to be only one thing he could do. He would fuck off and leave them… Floyd stretched his legs and sighed. If life was that easy he would do it. It wasn't that easy though. He had a responsibility to care for and love Spencer and he had a job of teaching Sam how to survive. He had to be involved in the lives of both of them. He'd dragged Sam into this and now he was stuck with him.

Morning was talking time. Floyd made coffee and took a mug into Sam… stood looking at the mess and took the mug into Spencer. He placed three mugs on the floor and then started to run the bath. He told Spencer that he wanted the all to be happy. He was doing his best but it seemed that they all wanted slightly different things. Spencer asked Floyd to stop killing and breaking his friends. Floyd explained in a calm voice that Spencer didn't have friends and didn't need friends. 'You have me.' Was his response to this. Derek had never been a friend. Derek had been a user as had Hotchner, who was not taking the death of his little boy very well. There was no one else. 'You don't need anyone else.' Floyd told Spencer as he unchained him. 'Have a nice soak in the tub and drink the coffee. I'm going to get Sam to have a shower. He seemed to have spread vomit everywhere.'

Sam was carried into the bathroom just as Spencer was lowering himself into the tub. Floyd had stripped Sam's clothes off but Spencer could smell that stomach churning stink of sour puke as Floyd folded Sam up and sat him in the bottom of the shower tray. 'Too much of a good thing.' Floyd commented.

'It doesn't look like it was a good thing.' Spencer slid down under his bubbles to conceal his body from Floyd's eyes.

'I've seen you in a worse state after a binge.' Floyd informed Spencer, lovingly. 'Once he's properly awake we will discuss our needs and try to come to some compromise which will include what I want. There are a lot of disused tunnels and byways under virtually every city. We don't have to stay in America. We can go wherever we feel we are most comfortable, but I think this is a good place to stay. It's not like we are short of money. There's a lot of open space and for the most part we can speak the language. I don't like Vegas, so don't even contemplate that place. Sam might like it and you might like it, but I hate it, so that's not a compromise. I'll agree with an apartment with a terrace, but I don't want somewhere where there is no open space at all. I'll agree to a city as long as there are forests near by.'

Spencer nodded and watched Floyd carefully turn on the water for the shower and then begin to wash Sam. He wasn't jealous of the way Floyd seemed almost tender with the way he moved his hands over Sam. He didn't mind that Floyd instructed Sam to keep his eyes closed whilst he washed his hair. He really didn't care, but he would still have loved Floyd to be doing that to him. Floyd thought could see that Spencer was watching and he could see the narrowing of Spencer's eyes and he could feel the way Spencer was thinking even if he wasn't voicing it.

'He needs to be nurtured.' Floyd told Spencer. 'He has never been loved or held with anything but revulsion or hate. I just…'

'I didn't say a thing. Carry on. He's got a chip on his shoulder. Wash it enough and you might get rid of it.' Spencer hadn't meant to say that. He'd meant to keep it all to himself. He tried to like Sam and sometimes he did and sometimes he could empathise with him, but Sam really didn't make it easy. It was like he would throw every obstacle he could in the way just so he could see you grow to hate him. 'He's not easy to like sometimes.' Spencer confessed.

'There are reasons for his behaviour.' Floyd said. 'He's not had a good up bringing with that shit Iolanda abusing him the way he did.'

'I'm awake.' Sam mumbled. 'And I can hear what you're saying and I'd like to say that if I'd been raised by you I'd not have made it past my fourth year and that's an exaggeration. You would have roasted me over a fire long before I was school age. At least Iolanda didn't kill me. At least he was a face I knew and could rely on. Sure he might have been a nasty fucker but I knew he wasn't going to let me die. He kept me out of the snow and let me sleep under the trucks and stuff when it was raining.'

'Well then, I was wrong! I never realised that the bastard was such a saint.' Floyd moved away from Sam now that he was awake. He slammed down the lid of the toilet and sat himself down. His knees ached. They hurt like hades and all for nothing. He made a decision that he was grovelling to the wrong team. Team Angel really wanted nothing to do with him. His slow climb back to redemption was halted. He was going to have to go back to _Them_ and pull in favours.

Sam rinsed out his hair and began what looked to Spencer – who was still watching closely – a painful washing of a bruised skinny body. Floyd liked his boys thin. He liked to be able to see the ribs and hip bones. It was unhealthy, but Floyd had made sure that both of them were verging on the very underweight side of the green line.

'Floyd, can I ask you something? During the world war, where were you? During Vietnam, where were you?'

Sam's head snapped up at the question and Floyd found two pairs of eyes looking at him as he rubbed at his painful knees. 'Why?' Floyd needed to know. There came no answer to that question and Floyd seemed a bit uncomfortable. 'I was not in one place. I travelled.' That to Floyd seemed like a very good answer. 'During both of those _wars_ I travelled.'

'Did you fight?' Sam wanted to know.

'Er – fight? No. No I didn't fight.' Floyd stood up and began to leave the bathroom. Questioning had reached a place he felt undesirable. 'I need to er…'

Spencer didn't want him to leave yet. He wanted to know what Floyd had been up to during those times. 'I wont hate you for anything. I was just curious.'

'Hate me?' Floyd shrugged and shook his head. 'What is it you think I did? Why the fuck would you hate me? I just said that I didn't fight. I was a conscientious objector. I didn't fight.'

'Which country did you refuse to fight for and against? Come on Floyd! You know everything there is to know about me and Sam and my knowledge of what you've done barely scratches the surface. Why don't you want to say?'

'Poland. I was in Poland for some of that second war and for some of it I was in the Ukraine. Why does it matter?'

Sam smirked, making up his own little story of why Floyd didn't fight and where he had been, but Spencer felt a deep dark frown spreading over his face.

'Knew you wouldn't like my answer. That's all you're getting from me. Now… who's for eggs?'

Spencer would like breakfast but Sam cried out. He said that his head hurt and his stomach ached and wanted to know what that shit was Floyd had given him, cos it wasn't the usual stuff, so whilst Spencer dried off and got changed Floyd stood alone in the wrecked kitchen and scrambled some eggs and put bread in the toaster and as he stirred the eggs he made a life changing decision – he was going to lie out of his arse if he had to, but he'd never tell Spencer or Sam what his involvement was during times of war.

The toast was slightly burnt. Floyd blamed Sam for changing the settings on the toaster. The eggs were a bit dry… and Floyd blamed the chickens. 'The weather has been very dry.' Except it hadn't and dry weather didn't effect eggs anyway. Considering Floyd liked to cook and usually was a very good cook, this plate of food was a total cock up. Spencer said nothing as he sat and ate in silence and that irritated Floyd even more. Spencer had only taken a couple of mouthfuls when the plate was snatched away and the food tipped into the bin. 'If you don't like it. Don't eat it.' Floyd barked at Spencer. 'And what's that damned look for?'

'Nothing.' Spencer pushed his chair back from the table. The chat in the bathroom had upset Floyd, but Spencer didn't know why. 'Were you held as a prisoner?' Spencer walked over to Floyd who was looking out of the window over to where the swing was still laying broken.

'Do you really think someone could hold me if I didn't want to be?'

'You were a guard of some sort? A deserter?'

'You ask too many fucking questions. It's none of your damned business what I got up to back then. You weren't even alive. It wasn't your arse I was having to watch out for. Thus I don't feel that your prying has any relevance on our current situation.'

Spencer nodded and wrapped his arms around Floyd's waist. He stood there pressing against Floyd's back and Floyd clutched a hold of Spencer's hands. 'If you ever want to talk about it.'

'I don't. There's nothing to talk about, Babes. Nothing. And if there was… well, yeah, I'd come to you and talk, but really there's nothing. I kept to the shadows. I kept myself safe and I kept the mark safe. I was working. I was working for someone more important than those uniformed fucks.'

Spencer had a very good feeling that this was a lie. He just didn't know what part of it Floyd was concealing. Floyd was right though, what happened before Spencer was born is irrelevant in a way. 'I just wondered if there was a reason you liked your boys so skinny.' Spencer muttered into the back of Floyd's neck.

'Skinny… not skeletal and not really emaciated. Maybe a bit… I dunno Spencer… it's not the lack of flesh on the bones I don't like, it's the lack of muscle I desire. I like my boys to look and be vulnerable and weak. Much easier to slap around. Don't cost as much to feed either.'

'Will you stop pissing me around and just be honest with me? What are you hiding?'

The hands tightened on Spencer's. It no longer felt as though Floyd was caressing. It was more of a crushing feeling. Spencer attempted to pull his hands away, but Floyd had them held there tightly. 'I'm not hiding anything from you. I've been as honest as I'm able. You know people are still being done for war crimes? You want me to be dragged out of the house for something I did so long ago. It no longer matters. It's no concern of yours. You didn't even exist back then. Maybe if you had then things would have been different, but you weren't and they weren't. Now leave it.'

Spencer kissed the back of Floyd's neck. 'I'll leave it. I'll never mention it again, but you're hurting me.'

They grip loosened and Floyd slithered around so that he was facing Spencer. He wasn't smiling, but he had an expression of joy on his face. Again Spencer wanted to ask what was going on in Floyd's head, but gentle kisses distracted him. Gentle touching distracted him. 'Spence, I've got a bit of a problem and I do need to sort it out. I need to leave you alone here with Sam. I give you my permission to use him as you see fit. I mean that. You may fuck him or beat him. I will be back as soon as I can. I lost my lighter and wallet. Need to go reclaim my property. You know oddly I'd almost forgotten about them both… but something you said… So I have to go look for them. Try taking the time to find some middle ground with Sam. If you can't get on, then come to some agreement between the pair of you. Sit and talk and lick and touch and stuff.'

Spencer was puzzled. He thought he wasn't allowed to touch Sam. He thought… 'Fine. I will attempt to get on with Sam, but you need to be careful. You must _not_ kill someone. Get your things back and come home to us. Maybe I'll tidy up while you're away. Maybe Sam and I can do that and chat as we work.'

'Yeah. Well that's all sorted then.' Floyd moved quickly now away from Spencer. 'I'll be back when I can. Don't let anyone in the house. Questions… don't answer any unless it's me asking. Plug the phone back in just in case…' Floyd was by now nearly out of the front door, his helmet in one hand and his bike keys in the other.

'In case of what?'

'In case the hospital needs to get hold of you.' The door slammed in Spencer's face, the bike revved and Floyd was gone.

'Damnit.' Spencer groaned.


	50. Chapter 50

50

Sam still hadn't come back down, so Spencer went up to locate him. He was crouched on the bathroom floor shivering, his teeth chattering and goosebumps all over his skin. Spencer asked what he was doing and Sam informed him that all the towels were wet and he couldn't dry himself anyway and needed help. He told Spencer that his skin was like the delicate petals of a rare flower and needed looking after and tending. What Sam wanted was for someone to dry him and then rub creams on his skin and oil him. He wanted attention. A lot of attention.

Spencer led Sam by his reluctant hand to his bedroom and pulled a clean towel out of a cupboard. Sam stood and grinned on the inside and Spencer moved slowly around Sam, rubbing him down carefully. Sam spread his legs slightly so that Spencer could reach all the places he needed to.

'There's some stuff in my room.' Sam told Spencer. 'Maybe I should go and get what I need?' Spencer gave him a small nod and a partial smile. He was sure that this wasn't the kind of bonding that Floyd wanted, but it seemed that Sam wasn't going to be happy until this at least was done. So Sam got this scented body butter rubbed in every conceivable location and in some locations which Spencer didn't think of… then he put rose oil on his hands and made sure that everywhere the body butter had been there was now oil. He brushed Sam's hair for him. It was long, hanging down his back, so Spencer braided it for him and wrapped a red hair tie around the end. 'Go get dressed. We have to tidy this house up for Floyd.'

Sam stood unmoving. He didn't want to do housework. He wanted to have fun. He wanted to play on his playstation. He wanted to watch porn on the TV. He wanted to look at magazines, but most of all he wanted, needed to be told how great he was.

'Do I look great?' He asked Spencer.

'You'd look better if you had clothes on.' Sam was told.

Sam struck a pose for Spencer who tried not to laugh. 'There is nothing wrong with the naked body. It's how we came into the world. It's only petty laws of the country we live in that govern the reasoning behind clothing.'

Spencer _did_ grin now. 'Not all bodies are as fine as yours.' He let Sam know. 'Some are down right repulsive. I think there is very good reason for clothing. Go put on something comfortable. We should at least tidy the bathroom and kitchen.'

Sam groaned, ran his fingers over his chest and nodded. 'You're right. I tend to think that everyone is as beautiful as me. You do think I'm beautiful don't you? I really don't know how you can stand there and not pounce on me. I'd let you. I'm all slippery and ready for you.'

'But I'm not ready for Floyd to skin me alive, so for now I will keep my hands off you. Not because I don't want to touch you, but because I want fingers for when I'm allowed to.'

This seemed to satisfy Sam for now. He smiled and stepped back from Spencer. 'I'll put on my dungarees and a Tshirt then. Thanks for sorting my hair. Do you think it would look better if I had it cut? You know? Something trendy and out there?'

Spencer shook his head at Sam. 'And look like every other kid on the street? I think your individuality is one of the things which makes you special.' Another thing which Sam seemed to like the sound of. He turned and left the room happily. The cheeks of his backside clenching as he walked through the door. Spencer would love Sam to get his hair cut. All of it… right off his vain head… but Floyd would object.

They tidied in companionable silence. Spencer picked things up off the floor, throwing out anything which was broken. Floyd had re-hung the painting in the broken frame so Spencer left it. He'd ask Floyd what he wanted doing with it later. Sam had the vacuum cleaner and seemed happy to wade through the bits of plaster and dirt on the floor. They'd cleared up most of the mess much quicker than they had thought they would, but Spencer was still keeping a close eye on the time. Not time to start to panic yet… he'd give Floyd more time to mess up before he would start to pace the room and panic.

Spencer and Sam sat at the dining table and played cards. They both cheated. They both knew the other was cheating… the game was eventually abandoned by mutual consent and with a laugh from them both. It would have been more relaxing for Spencer if he'd not been distracted by the way Sam's eyelashes swept shadows across his cheeks. It would have been easier to cheat if Sam didn't keep running his bare toes over Spencer's leg. The distraction wouldn't have been so bad had Sam not looked at Spencer the way he did… with one eye looking at his nose. It was a shame because apart from that Sam was really quite cute. A bit young…

'But…' Sam suddenly burst out and then shut up.

Spencer was putting the cards away and turned to look at Sam. There was a shifty look on his face now, almost as though he'd been caught out doing something he shouldn't have. 'But what?' Spencer asked him. 'You want to carry on playing?'

Sam shook his head, stood and stretched. 'I'm going to listen to some tunes in my room.' Sam walked slowly from the lounge. 'You can come listen to them with me if you want. I have some dip and suck dust.'

Spencer shook his head. 'Go and enjoy… just don't over do it.'

'It's just LSD stuff… nothing fancy, but let me know if you hear from Floyd.'

Apart from not being Sam's slave that instruction might have been all right. 'You will ruin your mind by poisoning it so much. Isn't there something else you'd rather do? Have you considered that advanced programme you were offered at the uni?'

Ah – Sam loved it when someone took notice of his intelligence. 'I've considered it, but Floyd wants to keep moving on and I've tried uni and the special programmes and I'm never around long enough to be able to carry them on. There's distance learning of course, but that's not the same is it? But maybe I'll look into that.'

'Floyd travels, you're right. He just can't settle in one place for long enough for him to make roots. If we could encourage that… together.'

'No.' Sam told Spencer. 'And don't even think about telling me that I should go residential. I can't. I'm legally under age and can't do that. According to the school records I'm only fourteen. You've been checking out a little school kid all day. It's amazing how what Floyd does rubs off on you.'

'You are legally sixteen.' Spencer corrected Sam. 'But that doesn't seem to stop you from prostituting and getting into bars.'

Suddenly the relaxed atmosphere began to crumble again. Spencer hadn't done this to purposefully annoy Sam but he seemed to have done anyway. 'I've been prostituting since I was legally ten! So screw you! I'm a mixed up kid who needs special handling. I've got all sorts of shit wrong with me!'

'You're not even human.' Spencer reminded Sam. 'You're a pretence.'

And there was a fight. Spencer didn't know how it started or who hit who first, but he thought that Sam slapped him and he slapped back and that turned into something a bit more spiteful. Sam was perfectly able to bite and kick and spit and pull hair. Sam could punch and scratch and deal every bit of pain that Spencer was able to. It only seemed to stop when Spencer was doing to Sam the thing which Floyd had done to Spencer so many times that he had lost count years ago. Sam's feet were off the floor and his back was against the wall… Spencer had his hands around his throat and was shouting into Sam's face. 'You're nothing! You're nothing!' Then with a shake he let go of Sam and let him crawl away. This fight Spencer had won, but it didn't make him feel good. There was no satisfaction that at all. He watched Sam crawl away from him and wanted to go over there and try to make amends.

'Sam… Sam… oh god.' Spencer went to grab the back of Sam's dungarees and pull him close and give him a hug.

'Don't you touch me! Don't you fucking dare you bastard cunt!' Sam wailed.

'Please Sam… I'll make this all right… stop flinching from me. You know I'd not hurt you.' And as soon as the words were out of Spencer's mouth he wanted to take it back again. 'Oh…' Spencer quickly backed away from Sam who was leaving a snot, piss and blood trail behind him. 'Sam…'

'Go rot in hell.' Sam snarled back at Spencer.

Sam crawled to his room being as pathetic as he could be. Spencer had hurt him, but he'd hurt him emotionally more than physically. The actual slapping and scratching shit had been just that. Holding him against the wall and shouting in his face had actually scared Sam, but the thing which upset him most of all were those last set of words… the echo of Floyd. That upset Sam most. It now felt like he had Floyd and Floyd's lesser and stinkier shadow to contend with. He'd always thought that Floyd would just click his fingers and begone with him, but Spencer too? He thought Spencer would put up with any shit and still come through.

This little circle of companionship was so broken and messed up that Sam too more than one dip of his powder and didn't care that his bed was smothered in cold puke. He even considered taking up the offer which had been made to him by a few universities and going residential. At least until he had sorted himself out. At least until he wasn't scared that his throat was going to be slit in his sleep and now he didn't know if it would be Spencer or Floyd who would do the job.

Spencer sat on the floor in the lounge and waited for Floyd to come home. At one point he used the bathroom which was small and cramped and stuck under the stairs. He didn't want to go upstairs. He didn't want to come across a dead Sam. He made coffee and a sandwich and went back and sat where he had been before and just waited.

He looked up at the clock when he heard Floyd's bike pull into the driveway. He was sitting in darkness with a cold mug of coffee and a cheese sandwich with curled up corners sitting at his side. He didn't realise that so much time had gone by. Briefly he wondered if he should go and meet Floyd, but then he changed his mind. Sam also had heard the bike return and was thumping down the stairs… maybe falling? Yes Sam was falling down stairs and Spencer secretly hoped that Sam broke his stupid neck.

Floyd stood dripping on the doormat looking at Sam who had hurled himself down the stairs so fast that he'd lost his footing and taken off. He landed with a crump and a surprised yelp and looked up at the apparition standing in front of him. Spencer arrived on the scene a minute later with a resigned look on his face. He looked and saw that Sam was wriggling and breathing and he looked and saw that Floyd seemed a bit out of it. He moved in quickly.

'Sam get up off the floor. Get some bin bags… quickly!'

Sam didn't move, but Floyd put a hand out and grabbed Spencer by the hair. 'Have you had him?'

'Don't be daft. I'm trying to help you here. Get stripped off. I'll get rid of those clothes. Did you get your things back?'

Floyd smiled, and pulled his wallet his lighter out of his pocket. 'They were somewhat resistant to my demands. No matter.' He licked his lips and pulled his belt out of the loops in his jeans. 'Don't look so worried Spence. All is good. The balance is restored. I only did to them what they did to me and left them for dead. They were a tad surprised to see me! But here we are, a happy family.' He turned to look at Sam. 'Have you been dipping down into my powders again? You look wasted.'

Spencer was picking things up off the floor and rolling them into a bundle. He could wash them. A cold wash and a hot wash with special detergent would do the trick. Yes someone could use special chemicals to find out if there was blood there, but everyone knew that Floyd got blood everywhere almost on a daily basis. They'd not be able to tell whose blood it was.

Floyd padded naked behind Spencer. He still seemed to be in a bit of a dream. It was as though his mind had slipped out of gear for a while. Maybe, Spencer thought, it was guilt. He shoved the clothes in the wash and put them on the right setting and then turned to look at Floyd. 'It's going to be fine.' Spencer reassured Floyd. 'You know I'll watch your back.'

'I know.' Floyd let out a small smile. 'You shouldn't have to, but I do know. That's about the only thing I can rely on you to do.'

Spencer leaned back onto the washing machine, enjoying the slight vibration coming from it. 'They raped you. You shouldn't feel bad that you went after your things.'

'Feel bad? I don't feel bad. It was a rush. Loved every second of it. It was like the days before I had to think about how my boys would react when I got home. It was like the days I didn't give a fuck… or at least could give the impression that I didn't give a fuck. They couldn't keep my shit. The wallet isn't made of legal leathers and the lighter is my bonding item… it gives me easier access to _Them_ so you see they couldn't have my things even when they said they'd keep what they have and even when they said they'd finish me off properly.' He gave a small shrug. 'I'm going to get changed. Back in a few. Get something heated up to eat will you. I'm famished and I didn't eat them… or parts of them… or remove parts of them. I've left nothing to suggest it was me.'

'Yet they will still come after you. They will be here as a first port of call.'

'Let them. Let the fucks come… Have you ever thought of going to Venice?'

'No.' Spencer smiled. 'Get washed and changed.

'I've had more showers and soaks in the tub in the past month than I have in the past ten years. You know that it's bad for you don't you? It erodes your defences and makes you more inclined to catch colds and flu bugs. In the days when there were no remedies for that sort of ailment, it often went to pneumonia and terrible chest infections… and then death. Yes, bathing can kill you.' Floyd gave Spencer a peck on the lips. 'Back in a sec. Get coffee and food ready.'

They sat around the dining room table looking at the grey slightly fish tasting thing Spencer had dished up. Sam was obviously not going to eat it. He claimed that Spencer tried to kill him and if it hadn't been for his quick ninja action he would be an ex-Sam right this moment. Floyd told Sam that he should have used his quick ninja action when coming down the stairs. It would have saved him from making a fool of himself. Spencer commented that if had wanted to… 'If I had wanted to kill you, Sam, I would have done. I didn't want to.'

'Fuck you arsehole.' Sam replied. 'You had me and you were choking my life out of me.'

Floyd stood up and stabbed his fork into the table top. 'Show me.' He said. 'I want to see what Spencer was doing to you.'

Spencer didn't move, but to carefully place his fork on the table. He was looking down at his food. It seemed to be the safest place to look right now. He pretended that he didn't understand what Floyd had meant.

'You want him to half choke me to death again? Why?'

Floyd gave a slight movement to his head, maybe a small nod or a tiny shake, or maybe he just cocked his head slightly to the side. 'I missed the entertainment which must have been so fucking good if you're complaining like a fucking old woman about it! Spencer! Get on your feet, take Sam and show me what you did to him.'

'Floyd I…'

'NO! I'm tired and I'm pissed off. Don't even think of arguing with me. Show me what you did to him! I want to see!'

Spencer stood slowly. If he was quick and if he attempted to cheat then it wouldn't hurt Sam. At least he hoped it wouldn't.

'You wouldn't!' Sam howled as Spencer walked to him and took his hand. 'You wouldn't! You said!'

There was a nod from Spencer who had his free hand on Sam's shoulder. 'I know what I said.' Spencer told him. 'And I meant it.' It was a hint. A clue that Sam should have picked up on, but seemed not to. Spencer really thought that he could fake it. For a while he thought Sam understood, but Sam screamed and struggled and kicked and scratched and told Spencer that he was a dirty liar, that he was meant to be his friend. He told Spencer that he'd hate him forever and no amount of giving Sam a hard look stopped him from trying to get away.

Floyd stood back watching at first. His head cocked to one side and his hands in fists at his side. He watched the half hearted way Spencer was slapping Sam's hands off him as he backed him towards the wall. This wasn't how Floyd wanted it. He wanted Spencer to show him what it was like but it seemed that watching wasn't Floyd's favourite pass time. He wanted to be the one doing it. 'Get out of the way. I'll show you.' Floyd shoved Spencer to the side with one hand, sending him rocking back and banging into the table. His other hand was already wrapped around Sam's neck and pushing him hard against the wall. 'Was it like this?' Floyd wanted to know. 'Did Sam's eyes go all big and scared?' He asked no one in particular. Sam had stopped with the struggle and now was whimpering at Floyd not to…

'Please don't… please don't… Floyd don't!' But his feet were already leaving the ground.

Spencer rubbed at his newly bruised hip and tried to get Floyd off him. 'Stop it! This isn't necessary.' He pulled on Floyd's belt, but the sudden sharp pain in his face as Floyd's elbow met Spencer forced him to let go. 'Leave him alone!' Spencer cried out as he placed a hand over his bloody nose. 'Stop it! Haven't you done enough for one day?'

Words which shouldn't have been said, but Floyd heard them and the hand around Sam's neck was suddenly gone and Sam was crying and crawling away with curses to everyone. 'Did you say something?' Floyd snapped at Spencer. 'Did you dare try to tell me what to do? You don't like it that I was hurting Sammy-Boy? It's all right for you to slap him around but not me? Do you really think I'm going to listen to you? Do you think that your words have any effect on what I am going to do once I've made up my mind?' He walked slowly towards Spencer who was backing off and shaking his head. 'Running? Run from me now and you'll regret it. Am I going to have to nail you to the fucking _wall_ this time? Will you never learn? Don't you fucking touch me! Don't you ever touch me if I've not given you permission. Sam stay where you are. You need to learn too. Both of you need to learn.'

Somehow Floyd had moved Spencer to the wall now. 'Floyd, you misunderstood.'

'Oh so now I'm stupid as well as wrong? Really? That's how you feel? I misunderstood what exactly? Misunderstood that you tried to tell me what to do? Misunderstood your words telling me to leave him alone? Well I've left him alone. You like the feeling of hands around your neck? I think you must do or you'd not have pissed me off like that! Sam! Sam you come here and you fucking watch! How will you ever learn if you refuse to do what you're told? See how Spencer always looks down and to his left when I'm about to beat the crap out of him? It's a submissive gesture. He doesn't even know he's doing it, but it doesn't work on me. I'll not accept submission until he's on his belly begging me. Want to be on your belly Spencer? No? Well stop acting like you do… Now Sam, see how he will keep his hands at his side. He never fights me off. This is another thing which is instinctive to Spencer. He wont fight me. He knows he can't win. He knows that I'll let him go sooner if he remains calm. In a second or two he will suddenly snap his head back. Again it's instinctive. He doesn't know he's doing it. It's at that point that I know he's about to pass out. You have to look for signs. You have to know your victim. There! Did you see it? You did… good… now I will count silently in my head to twenty and at that point I will release him. He will have no control over the muscles in his legs and he will fall forwards and slightly to his left. The left being his weaker side. I will be there to catch him… nineteen, twenty… there you go! It's like reading a book. You have to know your kill. You have to know your mark.'

Floyd grabbed Spencer as he fell to the floor. No more damage then necessary. 'OK.' Sam muttered.

'So that is why you need to stalk and you need to watch carefully. You have to know if your mark is right or left handed. You have to check the leading hand, which isn't always the same as which hand you write with. It's a science. Not one studied very much, but I've had a long time to watch and remember and make note. Get Spencer a drink of water. His throat will be sore.' Floyd knelt on the floor next to Spencer who had his eyes open in wide horror. 'It's OK. It's OK, Babes. I knew what I was doing, but don't you ever tell me what to do. Don't you fucking _dare_ presume that you know better. Next time I tell you to beat the shit out of Sam, you'll do it. Next time I have to teach you a lesson it might be with a bit more force. Here's Sam with a drink. Take it slowly.'


	51. Chapter 51

51

They spent the following week in sullen silence. Sam occasionally sat at the piano and played something which had Spencer been feeling a bit more inclined to favour Sam, would have said it was very good. It was technically wonderful and Sam knew that, but it lacked emotion. Floyd didn't comment on it, but gave Sam a smile and getting a smile out of Floyd was like finding a million bucks in your bank account.

It was almost unheard of, stomach churning… and very obviously a mistake.

Floyd wasn't in a smiling mood. He threw things at Spencer and Sam to get their attention rather than speaking to them. He wouldn't cook, he prepared his own meals and if the other two starved then that was their look out. Floyd paced. Floyd picked at the skin around his fingernails. Floyd spent every night staring out of the front window. He didn't go to bed. He didn't seem to be sleeping… (surely that was one of the things he moaned about losing?) He smoked too much… again he stood always with a cheroot between his lips… like if he didn't have it there he'd fall into a pile of dust. He drank too much. The stock of whiskey had been almost depleted when he finally ordered Spencer out of the house to go and get more.

Spencer drove to the local liquor store and Sam took the chance to get out of the suffocating atmosphere of the house and went with him.

'Not because I like you.' Sam let Spencer know. 'I just hate you less than I mistrust Floyd.' He spoke in a quite voice with a small tremble to it as he looked out of the van window. 'What are we going to do, Spence? We can't live like that. It's horrible. It's like I don't know if I'm going to get my neck broken for nothing at any moment.'

The van slowed down at an intersection and as Spencer drove through it he pulled over into a small parking lot. It wasn't at the liquor store. He wanted to talk to Sam. 'Do you know what Floyd means when he says he has ten years? Has he made a deal with someone?'

Sam pulled a pack of Pall Malls out of the glove compartment and lit one up, he then passed one over to Spencer who took it with a nod and wound down his window. 'He made a deal to keep you alive for ten years. They wanted you dead and he made some deal. I don't know the exact details of it, but it was all part of the Az thing at The Bastion. He did what they asked him to do there in exchange for your life.'

It wasn't what Spencer had been expecting. He thought it was Floyd's life that was coming to an end. 'I should be dead?'

'The Book of the Dead put your name down years ago. Floyd has been making deals all over the fucking place because he can't bare to be without you. How fucking pathetic is that? You were only meant to live to about twenty-five or something. I forget the exact age, it might have even been younger, but he's been making deals and with each one he has to give up part of what he is… so this shit is all your fault, because he's not the man he used to be. Not half.'

'So if I die…'

'Don't even think about that! Are you fucking stupid? You know he'll just make another deal and get you back at his side again. I don't know what it is about you, but you've broken him. He can go through all that crap he went through in all of those thousands of years and it was one little fucking mortal who finally broke him. You would think by the way he talks that it was that bastard Little River or that fucking Anthony, but nope, that's more of a smoke screen he puts up. He _loves_ you. He shouldn't. But he does. He doesn't love me and he should. I am his immortality. I will carry on where he leaves off because I think that when you leave and your soul is taken then Floyd will go too. Shall we get that drink for him? He's easier to handle when drunk.' Sam flicked his fingers over Spencer's leg. 'I only hate you because you take away the attention I want. I only hate you because I want to spend hundreds of years learning from him and I only have ten. You've effectively killed Floyd. That's why I hate you.'

Spencer flicked his spent smoke out of the window and turned to look at Sam. 'Ten years is about _my_ life span? I wont live to…'

'No. You wont. No matter what Floyd wants. So now you know what's going on shall we get him his drink and try to keep his as out of it as possible?'

'We can't do that for ten years. And why would we want to? Why do I want to keep Floyd inebriated when time is so short?'

Sam raised his eyebrows at Spencer. 'He's insane. He was always bonkers but he could sort of control it.'

'He would never truly hurt me. I know that. And now you've told me what you have, I'm even more sure of it. What we need to do is to go and help him. Offer him support and give him meaning to his life.' Spencer started up the van's motor again and began to turn back towards home.

There was a small but hard hand resting on Spencer's arm. 'You tell him what I just said and he will kill me and then blame you. Don't say a word, and he'll want his drink. You can't go back with no drink. He'll wonder why.'

Again Spencer pulled the van over and turned off the engine. 'Very well. I will get him his drink this time, but it's the last time. I'm going to do my best to get off the drugs and it would be nice if you did too. If we could all get clean and sober we might have a chance to change things… ten years… damn.' Spencer thumped the steering wheel. 'I want to ask you something.'

Sam reached over and placed a hand between Spencer's legs. 'I'd say _yes_ but he would know.'

Why did it always come to that with Sam? Why couldn't he just not assume that it was about sex… just once. It would be refreshing. 'Can you survive alone for ten years?'

The pale fingers quickly left the warmth of Spencer's groin. 'Alone?'

'I'm asking you to leave. Go and make a life… come back and be there for Floyd when I'm gone.'

Sam pulled open the van door and snapped of his seat belt. 'You mother fucker! You bastard! You squeeze secrets out of me then tell me to fuck off and come back to pick up the pieces you've left? NO! I wont! I'm going to be around and I'm going to help and I'm going to have him fuck me, because that's what I like. I'm walking home. I don't want to be seen with you. You're such a wanker! Why does he like you so much? Why does he favour you over me? What have you got that I haven't? Arsehole!' Someone walked past where the van was parked and Sam took the opportunity to wailed and shout. 'You fuck! I'm only sixteen! I'm a kid! I don't want your hands all over me! You dirty bastard!' He slammed the van door and grinned up through the window, giving Spencer an obscene gesture as he went. Reid didn't bother trying to persuade Sam back into the van, he drove off and left the little trouble maker standing alone and twitching in the parking lot. He would have a long walk home.

There was doubt in Spencer's mind that anything Sam had said was truth, but it could have been. He stopped off and picked up the drink Floyd wanted. That part of what Sam had said had been correct. It would look strange going home with no alcohol. More strange than going home with no Sam.

A car parked in the street. Outside his home. A big black car. An SUV. The Feds were back. Why the hell couldn't they be left in peace for a while? Long enough to mend and heal, but Rossi, as it seemed to be Rossi in charge of about everything now just wouldn't leave alone. He had to keep picking over the wounds… pick, pick picking all the time.

Spencer let out a long sigh and picked up the six bottles he'd purchased. He walked slowly to the front door, up the porch steps. The front door was open and muttered voices were coming from inside. He placed the bottles on the hall table and walked into the lounge. Surprise, surprise, Spencer had been right. It was Rossi.

Since the murders (at least Spencer was assuming there had been murders) the week before when Floyd got his lighter and wallet back, nothing had been reported anywhere. It slightly confused Spencer. There had been a lot of blood on Floyd and it had come from somewhere… for now he was content that the laundry had been done and things put away. Floyd had even picked bits out of his hair, though he'd not washed it… or washed his body since. Both of them looked over at Spencer who was standing in the open lounge doorway. 'Sorry to disturb you.' The looks he was getting weren't particularly welcoming.

'It's all right Spencer. Join us.' Rossi gestured across to the tatty leather chair which had once been Spencer's single most prized treasure but was now scraped, torn and stained beyond comfort. He walked on legs which didn't much want to bend and sat with a sigh into the chair. It still felt good to sit in, even if a strange smell wafted from it. It was almost like comforting arms wrapped themselves around him. He sat with hands clutching hold of the arm wrests and looked from Floyd to Rossi and back again.

'Is there a problem?' Spencer asked. Of course there was a problem! The problem was Rossi!

'No problem.' Floyd spoke smoothly and calmly. Too smooth… too calm. 'Where is Sam?' He added.

'He wanted to walk back. I've got what you wanted.' Spencer nodded in the direction of the hallway. He didn't want to say he'd been out getting drink for Floyd, though why he didn't want to he wasn't sure. Spencer bit down on his bottom lip and twitched a smile.

'The Feds have come grovelling.' Floyd told Spencer. 'They've found something and need and expert to have a look.' Floyd now turned to Rossi. 'We have been down this road before. I don't work well with the Feds, especially as you accuse me of every murder and oddness in the world. Why would I work for you? I don't need money. I don't need your appreciation. I don't much like you and I have no liking for authority. So, why come to me? There must be others.'

Rossi nodded and picked up the mug which was sitting in front of him. 'There are others. You're right. I can give you a long list of murderers and serial killers who eat parts of their victims, but none of them are mentally competent. They can't hold a conversation and don't have the minds which would lead us to believe that they are actually helping. We've not come to you first. There are other people on our list. Other criminals walking the streets who we go to and they talk to us sometimes and other times they don't.'

'The world is a dangerous place Dave.' Floyd mocked. 'So you went to other people first and could they help? Did they help? Did they give you answers they didn't like? Why are you here?'

Rossi swilled the drink around in his mug as he thought of how to answer. 'Everyone by default becomes an expert as soon as they kill their first victim. They have done it for a reason. They've worked it all out in their heads… obviously I'm talking about the sort who prey on someone, not a random act. None of those we've talked to so far actually know what we have asked. You're a last resort.'

Spencer twitched nervously. He didn't like that. He really didn't like that Floyd had been a last resort. That wouldn't sit well with Floyd's ego. He fidgeted and wriggled in his chair as the panic began to grow, but when Floyd spoke he still seemed calm.

'Last time I helped you my words were hardly out of my head and I was being attacked physically and verbally. I don't think I want to work along side you again. I don't want to travel to some remote hill billy shit splat farm and look at bones. You'll have to keep looking for someone to assist you. I'm not available. Spencer stop that! Go and see if Sam's on his way back. I assume you had an quarrel again? What about this time?'

Spencer shook his head to quiet Floyd. 'It was nothing. Nothing major.' He unfolded himself from the chair and walked from the room. He didn't go looking for Sam. He stood just beyond the door with his back pressed to the wall, listening.

'The bones are with us. All you will have to do is come down to the lab and have a look. Tell us what you see.' Rossi spoke quietly. He didn't really want Spencer to hear what he was proposing. The ex-Agent might start to object.

'And why would I want you to have information on the bones? You say there are tooth and tool marks? It sounds like someone after my own heart, Rossi. Why would I want them captured?'

There was silence for a while. Spencer was sure that they knew he was listening. He was getting cramp in his leg and his scalp was itching. He wanted to move but dare not unless either Floyd or Rossi knew that he was listening.

'They are ancient bones, Floyd. Much too old for the criminal to still be alive.'

Again there was an odd silence.

And then Floyd spoke. 'Old bones? I don't understand why you're investigating them.'

'It's all part of the job. Obviously if you don't want to I would understand. But your expertise would be paid.'

A sound of movement and Spencer took the chance to move from the wall to the front door. It sounded to Spencer as though Floyd had stood and was now pacing. 'I'll look, but I don't know what you expect me to say. Really does it matter? It's not as though you will be able to identify the victim and you can't bring the culprit to your laws, so I don't see the reason.'

Most scuffling and movement. Probably Rossi getting to his feet. 'Well now is a good time for me.'

Spencer opened the front door and walked out of ear shot. Damn the man! Damn him! He was taking Floyd away and he'd be left here to try to amuse Sam. It really wasn't what he wanted. He sat on the bottom step and looked down the road in the direction Sam would come from. Someone walked down the steps and sat next to him. An arm wrapped around his waist. 'I'll not be long.' Floyd licked at Spencer's ear as he spoke. 'I really don't know what it is they want from me.'

'Maybe it's a trap.' Spencer whispered back.

'I don't detect a lie on him.'

'He's an expert profiler. He is good at lying. We all are.' Spencer hissed back. 'Just be very careful what you say. You only need to admit to one small thing and they'll have reason to keep you locked away and right now I don't think you'd survive that. Promise me.'

The arm tightened for a moment. 'I promise I will be careful what I say. It's easier to co-operate than to tell them to piss off. They get suspicious. They will keep coming back.'

'They will never leave us alone.' Spencer moaned.

'Then let me get this over with. I'll contact you if I need to. No phones necessary. Stay cool… like Fonzie.' Floyd slapped Spencer on the back and then stood. 'I'm ready.'

'You're drunk.' Spencer told him as he swept a hand over the back of Floyd's calf. 'Please come back soon. Rossi!' Spencer turned to the Agent who used to be part of the team Spencer worked on. 'Please bring him home to me soon. Bring him home. Don't just let him loose. He's been drinking a lot.'

There was no reply, but a tight nod and the pair of them walked away. Floyd with a reluctant stride and Rossi with a _I won the prize_ look on his face. Spencer knew what happened to people who got themselves caught up in this game of possession and the end result was never very nice.

Spencer had thought it was a trap. Maybe he'd been correct. Floyd was standing in the doorway of the morgue feeling less than comfortable again. it reminded him a bit of the feeling he had gotten when Spencer had asked about Poland. Ridiculous but there you go. It wasn't the same feeling… but it was similar… not panic, or fear, or grief… but something which niggled in the back of his head and sent out a jingle jangle of alarm down his spine.

'Well I think I've changed my mind.' Floyd told Rossi. He'd not even stepped into the room. He really didn't want to step into the room. 'I have a feeling that if I go in there that I might get angry.' Floyd stepped back. A buzzing filled his head… a crying buzzing sound. Floyd placed his hands over his ears and cocked his head to one side. 'Where the fuck did you find those bone?'

Rossi smiled. He actually stretched that ugly face and gave Floyd a smile. 'There's nothing to be alarmed about.'

Oh but there was! There certainly was. 'Where did you get the bones?'

'Various places. They're not all from the same victim.'

Floyd nodded and shook his head and placed a hand now on the wall as thought to steady himself. 'They need to be returned. You can't just go around digging up bodies which have been laid to rest. You can't do that. Never disturb the dead. It brings such misfortune on you that it's not even something I want to imagine. Take them back to where they came from.'

It wasn't going to be that easy though. Rossi took Floyd by the elbow and lead him into the room.

A scream ripped through Floyd's mind. A deathly horrific scream which made Floyd's eyes water. 'This is all very wrong. You don't know what you're messing with.'

'We don't. But you are going to tell us.' Rossi assured Flanders.

He was guided to a metal table with a few plastic containers sitting on it. The screaming seemed to be coming from one of them, the buzzing from another and just a deep dark groan from somewhere else. Rossi pulled on latex gloves and handed a pair to Floyd. 'Fucking fuck.' Floyd mumbled as he put them on and stared at the boxes. 'Before you open one… do that first.' He pointed to the screamer. 'I want that one out of the way, but first I need you to tell me where you got the bones.'

Rossi gave Floyd a curious look and nodded. 'Someone exploring some ancient caverns in Nevada came across them.'

The twitch on the side of Floyd's face wasn't missed my Rossi. 'Ah ha.' Floyd sighed. 'They need to be returned. The dead don't like to have their parts scattered. It's bad for the… for the spirit. It's upsetting.'

'They've been there a long time, Floyd. They're not recent.'

'Does it matter? One hundred or two thousand? _Does it matter_? It's grave robbing. It's nothing less. These bones need to be returned I'll not even look at them or go further with this game until you tell me that they will be returned and not stuck in a box in some museum store room.'

'You can be surprisingly sensitive to the most strange things. I can't promise you that they will be returned. That's not my decision to make but I will make your request known. Now can we have a look.'

It was as Floyd thought. He really didn't have to look very far. He knew the bones and he had a damned good idea that Rossi knew that too. Floyd waved his hand over them without touching and then wiped sweat off his brow with his forearm. 'You want a cause of death?' Floyd asked.

'I don't think that's possible, but I would like to know what you make of the tool marks and other abnormalities.'

So he dipped his hand into the screaming box. He lifted it up to his face and smiled at it. 'A screamer. He screamed so much… poor…' He paused. '…boy… it's a boy. The meat has been stripped with a tool. Probably a sharpened stone? He was found in a cave so I'd assume that much. The patterns have been carved in afterwards obviously. This bone has been hardened over heat. He ran a finger down it…' He could see the lad standing there in his ragged clothing. He had begged to be left alone. He'd screamed and cried, but it had been no good. His skull was crushed and he was cooked up for dinner. Just another animal. That's all he was. He would have had no life anyway. Poor kid. A screamer until his last breath. He bones had been… 'The bones are marked as an act of respect. It's to make sure… it's like a head stone or grave marker. It's not an uncommon thing to do when you eat… when you – it's not uncommon for bones to be marked like that after they're stripped.' Floyd dropped the bone and picked up another. 'Not the same person.' He ran fingers over the bone. 'Yet found in the same place. This has also been stripped, but by hand. No tools used this time. This bone has been air dried and then marked.' Floyd glanced at the other boxes and frowned. 'I'm sorry, that's all I can do. I need to go home.'

'Would you at least look at this?' Rossi pulled over a smaller container and opened the lid. A skull sat neatly in the bottom. 'What do you think?'

Floyd backed away. 'Think? What do I think? I think you've gone mad. What do you want me to tell you?' He had given the contents just one very quick glance. He didn't need to look closer.

'There are six of them. All the same size and all the same shape.'

'Really? How interesting. Now I'm going. This was a voluntary attempt to help you. I can't. You need to put all of these things back where they were found.'

'A reason why maybe? A guess?'

Floyd didn't have to guess. He knew the answer. Floyd wasn't going to tell Rossi the answer though. He backed slowly out of the room and as he left the buzzing and screaming died back slightly. 'I have to go. You have no idea what you've done by removing those from where they'd been rested. No idea! You idiot! If I was to go dig up bones from a cemetery I'd be done for desecration. But you seem to have no problem doing the same. The spirits will be angry. They will come and seek revenge. They will come and they will…' Floyd turned and marched down the corridor the way he'd come. '…they will want answers Rossi! They will demand to know why they've been disturbed from their sleep! They will need to know! And I want no part of this exercise.'

Rossi caught up with Flanders in the parking lot. Floyd had a cheroot between his lips. His face looked pale and sweaty. He looked like he was on the verge of panic. It wasn't the result Rossi had expected. He thought Floyd would get into this and enjoy the moment. It seemed that the direct opposite had occurred. 'Floyd.' Rossi placed a calming hand on Floyd's arm. 'Explain. You've inspected bones for us in the past. You didn't have this reaction to it last time.'

Floyd sneered at Rossi. 'Last time! Last time… that's funny Dave. That's fucking hilarious. Those remains had enchantments placed on them. They were protected remains. They were vessels. You are messing with demonic things way beyond your understanding. I advise you the best I can and that is to put them back where they were found. Or failing that, if you really insist, have someone remove the bindings; the spells. A witch will do it for you. But you'll need to find the right sort. I can't do it.' It was ridiculous… obviously a stupid witch couldn't remove a spell placed by something demonic… or even by Floyd.

'What sort of enchantment?' Keeping Floyd on side, Rossi did his best not to laugh at Floyd. 'What does it do? And why was it put there in the first place.'

Floyd brushed Dave's hand off him and turned. 'Have you heard the old stories that the ancients believed that by devouring the body of the fallen you also take in their mind, their memories and intelligence?' Rossi nodded. 'Well that's what. When something is done properly and time is taken… when you take the brain along with the heart and the liver then that person becomes a part of you. You treat the bones with a kind of respect. They are no longer just a bag of meat, they are part of you. You don't want someone coming along and messing with that. It causes disruptions. So you place enchantments on the bones to bind them with yourself. Just eating the flesh isn't enough. You have to own everything. All of it. You have to leave your mark so that others know. Time passes. Old traditions get overlaid with new thoughts and ideas. People place new reasoning and things change. It's now thought of as wrong to eat the flesh of your own. The reasons become traditions rather than a spiritual and religious reason. That doesn't mean that those old reasons are no longer real. They might be forgotten, but that doesn't make them wrong. Can you see that? I need to go home. This has sickened me as much as grave robbery would sicken you.'

'Are you telling me that you still believe in those old ways? That by eating the brain you take in part of the knowledge held in it.'

Floyd didn't answer. It was obvious – at least he thought it was. Of course that was how it worked. Maybe not for the likes of Rossi, but certainly for the likes of Floyd. Why else did he remove the hearts and livers of so many of his kills? He had to take the spirits and the life force… the brains… oh sweet… delicious… 'Who located all of those remains?' Floyd asked. 'It wasn't the BAU… what is your interest in it anyway?'

'They were brought to us by a collector. He thought they would interest me… on a personal level. And in turn I thought they would interest you… again on a personal level.'

'_Interest_ is hardly the right word.' Floyd threw down the cheroot butt and walked towards Rossi's SUV.


	52. Chapter 52

52

Rossi didn't seem happy to leave things as Floyd wanted them left. He wanted to dig and ask questions. He wanted to know the specific thing which spooked Floyd. He offered to take him for a drink. To a bar. Somewhere to relax and just talk. The day was not chill. They could sit out back in a garden and smoke and drink and chat about it.

Damn… it was tempting. Floyd nodded his head. 'As long as the questions stop when I ask them to. This is a sensitive subject.'

It seemed to be good enough for Rossi, even though he had an idea that Floyd would cry off once he had his drink in front of him. It was a risk Rossi was willing to take. 'You don't need to rush back to check up on Spencer?'

'Fuck you and your sarcasm.' Floyd replied. 'You want to work on this then stop taking the fucking piss Rossi.'

It seemed fair enough. They settled in the back of a bar called something which Floyd couldn't remember. It wasn't somewhere he'd been before but Rossi knew the joint. They could smoke out the back and drinks were brought to them. Rossi was on a gentle shandy and Floyd on a less gentle whiskey.

'I know.' Floyd told Rossi before the man could start going on at him. 'I drink too much. I don't need you to nag me too.'

Dave shook his head and smiled. 'I wasn't going to comment, but it will kill you if you carry on.'

'A reason to live?' Floyd requested and pulled his lighter out of his pocket. 'I'm not here to talk philosophy with you. You wanted to know about the matching skulls.'

Rossi passed over a cigar for Floyd to try. Sometimes when you worked with a psychopath or a sociopath the best way forwards was to befriend. There really was nothing Rossi could think of but to buy the man a drink and offer up one of his Cuban cigars. Floyd took it, sniffed it and nodded a thank you. Gift accepted. Stage one complete. Dave gave that a mental tick in a little mental box. 'I would like to know about the skulls. They were not all the same age, in that I mean that there were hundreds of years between the oldest and the youngest.'

'We are talking of age of the bone and not the age of the person it came from… I assume. You want to know what sort of person would collect skulls which are alike? They were found together?' He had to be careful and not let on that he knew the answers to some of the questions he was being asked. He had to ask things which were un-necessary, because Rossi was a savvy git.

'I would like your take on it. Yes they were found together. They were buried in the foundations of a house. The land was sold, the house demolished and they were found. The puzzling thing is that they were not placed there at the same time. They were placed there when the bone was fresh.'

'Fresh kills.' Floyd muttered around the cigar. 'It makes sense. You're saying though that the person who placed the first skull there couldn't have been the same person who placed the second one there… and so on. I think that's what you're puzzled over.'

Rossi swigged back on his refreshing drink and gave Floyd a gesture to carry on. 'Please…'

'There are many, very many unexplained things which happen. Maybe when they originally happen it was put down to the gods or to witchcraft or elves and fairies. People have to have something to explain the strange and if there isn't anything then they make it up. Do you agree? Well you see what happens now is that scientists have said that fairies and elves don't exist. They try to say that demons and angels don't exist. They tell us that everything is based on science and if that's the sort of conversation you want then go to Sam. It's his thing not mine. He's very much into the creation and the big bang shit. Not me… so… anyway… Science explains things for us. There is even a big division now in the belief of the gods or the singular god, the faith in things like that is slipping and backsliding, so we can't even use that as an excuse to explain the strange. You don't look like someone who believes in UFOs and such. You look like a man who likes to see things in black and white. You don't like that mucky grey stuff which I seem to enjoy so much. What do you want me to tell you, Dave? That someone lived for hundreds of years and had a collection of skulls?'

'People don't live long enough for this to have been from one person. Even family traditions wouldn't last a couple of hundred years. It's not the answer. There has to be something else.'

Floyd smiled and flicked ash over the table. 'You see what I mean though? This _was_ all done by the same person. Someone who had a liking for a certain shaped skull. I can't tell you who it was, but by taking the head and removing the brains carefully and then eating them… well it's almost like the fountain of youth and knowledge all mixed into one delicious slop. There are some who believe that the shape of a head will provide them with better knowledge or with a better life span. That is why the skulls are the same shape and why there is extended times between each. I would guess that whoever owns those heads has a larger stash somewhere. I used to…' Floyd picked up his drink and sipped on it. 'I used to… have a collection of things… I kept the ones closest to me closest. The others I had in storage. I would suggest that you look at the ones you have as the treasure. There are a lot more somewhere.'

Rossi puffed and sipped and puffed. 'And do you know where we would find this trove of skulls?'

'I would only know that if they had been collected by me, personally.' Floyd told Dave.

'And were they?'

Floyd smiled and pulled out one of his own cheroots. 'Now that would be telling. What I do know is whoever placed those under the house didn't expect them to be found and that the others would have been better protected. You wont find them.'

'We will continue to search.'

'All you want.' Floyd hissed back at Dave. 'Those other bones… you said a collector had them?'

Dave smiled and called for Floyd's glass to be topped up. 'You didn't think we'd find them?'

'I… Those… No.' Floyd admitted. 'I know where they are from. I recognised them. I'm not going to comment further on that though. I will ask you again who brought them to you. Who alerted you to my… to this shit?'

'A Professor at a local university.'

'You're not going to give me a name are you?' Floyd swigged back the last of his second drink and indicated his empty glass. 'Information for information. Come on now Rossi… what's his name?'

Dave shot Floyd a dangerous smile. 'The man wishes to live. I'm not going to hand you his warrant.'

'You do me a miss-service with that kind of thinking. I merely wish to know who it is.'

'I merely wish to not be the one responsible for his death.' Dave winked as though this was one big joke to him.

This wasn't good. This was a pile of old shit actually. 'I need the bones from the box of the black sigh.' Floyd announced. 'I need them back. And what I mean by that is that those are special bones and they have to be dealt with.'

He kept saying this. He was almost in a panic over the ancient bones. But the box of the black sigh? Rossi didn't understand this. 'Which box is that, Floyd and why would you need that one? You didn't even look inside.'

'Because some old cunt has been on my trail for a long time. This is sick. This is disgusting and sick. There are dark things out there which you'd never imagine. I find it hard to get my head around it sometimes, but I put it to you that the professor isn't all he's making himself out to be. What sort of man collects bones?'

'Tell me. What sort of man?' Dave replied. 'What do you mean that someone has been on your trail? Are you trying to tell me that something or someone has been digging up your kills?'

Floyd stood. He caught his ankle on the edge of the bench and let out a yelp, picked up his empty glass and hurled it at the wall at the back of the open yard they were sitting in. 'Stop fucking playing games with me Rossi! This is the life of Spencer we are talking about. The life of Sam. You want to see them dead just to satisfy your theory?'

Dave stood and that dangerous smile was back on his face. 'We are talking about the bones of hundreds. Not a few dozen… hundreds of bodies… someone killed them, ate parts of them and decorated the bones with something to remind them of what a great time they'd had. Someone made notes on the bones as to what they'd tasted like, what they had done when they died… did they urinate or defecate? Did they cry and beg for mercy? It's all there.'

'Fucking bollocks is it! Fucking load of shit! Who the hell told you that? The damned professor or fucking losers? Fuck you! Fuck you and fuck everyone. I'm going home.' He paused and sat back down again. 'I need a lift. Don't think I can walk that far. What the hell is this shit I've been drinking. Did you know I never used to be able to get drunk? Just thought I'd tell you. This shit makes my fucking head hurt. Makes me talk crap. And you're telling me that you would see Spencer and Sam dead so that you can get me locked in a glass coffin for eternity? That's what you want?'

Rossi sat down again too and waved over for a fresh glass and drink. He had his own glass topped up with soda pop. Floyd curled his lip at the sight of it. The man was being cautious.

'I want to understand you. This is not BAU business. This is my hobby. I want to understand why you do these things.'

'A man can't live for thousands of years. You said so yourself.' Floyd snatched the fresh glass and took the bottle from the waiter. 'I'll have that thanks.' He topped up his glass but drank directly from the bottle. 'So what's this all about?'

'A man can't live forever, Floyd. That gives me two options; you're not a man – at least not in the sense we would usually say, or you're a liar. Now I know that you're the latter. We have more than enough proof that you lie without even knowing what you're doing. But those lies sometimes hit close to home. Your lies are also truth. But how can that be, Floyd. How can you have killed all of those people? It's not possible… therefore the only answer to that question is that you are insane.'

'Cheers.' Floyd said.

'Criminally insanity is a subject which I like. I find it very interesting. I find you very interesting. You actually believe that you killed all of those people, and because you believe it you wont talk to me about it. You don't want to be convicted of it. I can understand that. I have no proof it was you… no proof probably because it wasn't you, now the other thing is that maybe you're not telling me the information I would so dearly love because you're a liar and your insanity is a liar… you really _do_ think that you do all of these dreadful things, but you don't. It's not you. You're not the most evil man on the planet, you're a spiteful drunk who abuses those who are closest to him. You need help. You need a lot of help.'

'I think we should leave. You'll never understand.' Floyd could hear that he was talking slowly… trying not to slur his words.

'Another day? A drink and a chat?' Rossi bleeped the car open for Floyd who slipped in and put his feet up on the dash board, knowing it would annoy Rossi; at least had it been his car he'd have been annoyed and snapped a pair of ankles. Annoyingly though, Dave said nothing. He drove them home slowly and calmly and asked Floyd about his shirts. Floyd didn't deign to answer his questions.

o-o-o

Spencer had waited for Sam who arrived back home grubby, as though he'd been rolling around in the street and he had a bloody nose. Spencer stood and walked to meet him. Sam's shoulders were slumped and he was walking slightly strangely. 'I don't want to talk to you. Where's Floyd?' Sam snarled at Spencer, who then told Sam that he'd gone with Rossi to look at some old bones. He would be back shortly. He then asked what had happened to him.

'I got beat up for being a fag.' Sam snapped at Spencer. 'Everyone hates me. Even people who don't know me hate me. I'd never seen them before, but they came at me with their gold chains and fucking arses hanging out of their jeans and called me a faggot and then pushed me and slapped me around. Then they kicked me in the balls. Why is it that when you were going through shit like this that you had someone to watch out for you and I don't? Where's my protection from the criminals out there. The homophobes who just want to slap around the kid who looks a bit different.'

Spencer shrugged. 'Looking at old bones with Rossi? Come in and wash up. I'll make a sandwich. Tell me where you were when this happened.' Spencer took Sam's hand and dragged him back into the house. Miss Kitten across the street had been keeping her distance. She seemed to realise maybe that this happy family was trouble. Sensible woman. Spencer saw the curtain twitch though. Good for her. Let her imagine the horrors going on inside the house. She wouldn't be far wrong.

He took Sam to the kitchen and told him to sit up on the counter surface. Spencer got disinfectant and slowly wiped down all of the scrapes and cuts. He also told Sam that he wasn't going to be kissing him better, but he moved close and wrapped arms around the very confused Sam.

'You tell me that you want me to go away and leave you and Floyd for a decade and then you hug me? I don't get you. Why can't you do and say what you mean and stop messing with my head?'

Spencer rested his head on Sam's chest. He could hear the skipping, thumping, bouncing of Sam's irregular heart beat. If a doctor listened to this, Sam would be put in intensive care and be given a week to live, but the sound was so similar to what he heard in Floyd's chest that it was a comfort. 'Each time I have died, I've come back changed.' Spencer spoke slowly and carefully. He didn't want to say the wrong thing. He didn't know if he _should_ he saying anything. 'I was convinced at one time that I was not a sexual person. I denied it. Very strongly I denied it. But I was slowly persuaded and then death changes things. I'm not who or what I once was, Sam. I'm confused and not coping too well with what I'm feeling. I love Floyd. You know I do. There's nothing I wont do for him, and infidelity is something I'm struggling with. Greatly. I've made the mistake with Morgan, I'm not going to make it again with you. If my actions caused Floyd to permanently harm you or dispose of you I don't know if I can forgive him and that thought is unbearable. I can't feel like that.'

Sam stroked the top of Spencer's head. 'Do you want my arse?' He asked him.

'More than you'll ever know. That's the reason I have to keep you away from me. I can't… I just can't…'

'So he'll slap me. So he'll slap you.' Sam shrugged. 'I dare you. Do me here… pull down my pants and have me on the kitchen counter.'

'No.' Spencer began to pull away but Sam already had his legs tightly around him.

'You sat me here for this purpose. Don't try to tell me otherwise.' Sam pulled tighter on Spencer's hair. 'Come on! Take me! Get it over with then you'll not have to sit and brood about it! Come on you dirty whore! Do me! I can feel how hard hot you are!'

o-o-o

They were playing chess when Floyd walked through the door. Spencer and Sam, both slightly flushed in the face looked over and smiled. The smile wasn't returned, but that wasn't unusual. Spencer could feel his heart pounding in his chest and the flush in his face increased as sweat popped out on his brow. Sam though, went very pale… the colour left his face instantly as he tucked a bit of stray hair behind his right ear.

'He…' Floyd muttered and then walked to the couch and threw himself down in it with a sigh. 'Someone…' He started to talk again as Spencer and Sam followed Floyd with their rather nervous looking eyes. 'I know.' Floyd then said and rubbed at his eyes with his fingertips.

He knew. Spencer and Sam just weren't sure what it was Floyd knew. 'Ah.' Sam said, but Spencer remained silent.

'I once had a home on the edge of a river. I lived there alone most of the time, well all of the time. I took people back but they didn't live there with me. They've pulled it down. I don't know why. It still belongs to me. It seems though that someone has purchased the land.'

'Bummer.' Sam said, then looked back at the chess board and moved his rook.

Floyd stared at his two boys. 'They will likely find more remains there. They've only found the six skulls I had in the basement. There's rather more than that scattered over the land. I had a small hidden underground place. They will eventually find it when the land is cleared. If it's not fallen in and collapsed, they will still find it.'

Spencer stood now and joined Floyd on the couch. 'That was what Rossi wanted to show you?'

'Oh he knows. I'm sure he knows everything. The land is held in my name. He just chose not to say that. He was pushing me for information. I gave him some. It's not something he will believe though. He's not one of us. However, he had bones from other places. They were my kills. My hidden stash of stuff. I think he has it all. The dark…' Floyd wrapped his fingers around one of Spencer's hands. 'They have Anthony's bones. I could hear them. I could feel them. He wouldn't tell me how he came about them, but to say that a Professor at a university brought them to him. I would like to say I don't believe it, but how else?'

'You have someone trying to take what is yours?' Sam asked. 'Can you…? Can you get his bones and…'

Floyd squeezed Spencer's hand. 'I need those bones. I have to have them and dispose of them properly.'

Sam now jumped up and walked over to Floyd. 'Anthony? You can get him back! You can…'

'No.' Spencer moaned. 'Not now. Not now we are pulling together and making things right.'

'I don't want him back. I want his bones. I want them disposed of. How the hell could anyone find them? They were buried in the middle of the fucking forest! I buried them in a ditch. They should have rotted away and never been found. But they'd not been… they… Someone took him before. Someone knew.'

'Don't look at me! I wasn't alive back then.' Sam muttered. 'But there's something else I have to tell you…'

Spencer wanted to shut Sam up. He wanted to silence him quickly. 'What should we do?' Spencer was now squeezing Floyd's hand back. Panic, annoyance… damn Anthony! Damn him!

'Spencer screwed me in the kitchen.' Sam blurted out.

'I know. I said I knew didn't I? I can smell it. Was it good?' Floyd asked Spencer. 'I think he has a delicious little arse. I'm glad you've finally done what needed to be done. Now we are really all one. Fun, fun, fun… but back to the bones…'

'Sod the fucking bones! That was years ago. And they can't get you for that. There was no way they can accuse you of that and they'll never know what he died of. That's not a problem.'

'The problem is that I have to let Anthony rest. If I can let him rest then I can too. I wonder what else the fuck has taken of mine. And I wonder who would do that. Any ideas Sam?'

'I would have said it was Iolanda, but he's dead. I can't think who else it could be though.' Sam moaned. This was going to be a damned pain in the arse. If Iolanda was back and fucking with Floyd then there was going to be trouble.

'Hm…' Floyd sighed. 'I thought the same. He's been fucking me around since time began. I thought I'd put a stop to it. We have to find him. I'm giving that job to you Sam.'

Sam stood in stunned silence. Iolanda had been the one who had trained him from an early age. The one who had treated him like an animal. The one who had abused and hurt him more than anyone ever had. 'I would… but I don't know where to start.' A lie. He didn't want to! He didn't want anything to do with that man.

'Try the universities first. I'm tired. Finish your game and come to bed. I need both my boys tonight. We need to bond properly.'


	53. Chapter 53

53

Spencer awoke curled up around Sam who was curled up around a pillow. Floyd was gone, but not far. Spencer could hear him shouting a one way conversation with someone downstairs. At first as he untangled himself from Sam he thought Floyd was talking to himself, but more careful listening let him know that Floyd had been reduced to using the telephone. That was possibly the reason for his anger, but probably not all. He left Sam alone, went and cleaned his teeth, had a quick shower and then joined Floyd downstairs who was now standing in silence surrounded by what had once been a telephone and was now just shattered bits of plastic. Floyd was dressed and obviously ready for some kind of action, but Spencer didnt know what and wasn't going to ask. A fist in the mouth as an answer because he _should_ be able to read Floyd's mind and predict the reason for his rage, wasn't what Spencer wanted to start his day with, so he just ran a lazy hand down Floyd's arm… Floyd had his white shirtsleeves rolled up to just above his elbows and was wearing old black jeans with suspenders and a belt. Spencer thought that Floyd could easily have come from some time a hundred years ago. He gave Floyd a cautious smile and took his hand. 'Want to tell me?' He spoke gently but avoided eye contact. He was also holding Floyd's left hand… Floyd's leading hand. If he was going to slap him for asking Floyd would use his left.

'I fucking hate phones.' Floyd hissed and kicked out at some of the black plastic. 'How can I let them see how much I need something if I can't fucking well throttle them for denying my request. A reasonable request I'll add.' Spencer asked what that request might have been. It could have been anything from asking someone for their skull – as it seemed Floyd had just lost his – to ordering a pizza. 'The land it seems had a compulsory purchase put on it. The damned State ripped me off. I want my money back… they had no right to take what wasn't theirs and sell it to some fucking land developer.' Floyd snatched his hand from Spencer's and began his irritated pacing. 'I need to get the deeds to the lawyer to look at them and then he will decide what route should be taken. Why the fuck do I need to do that? It's not the State's fucking land! How fucking _dare_ they do that.'

'And what are you most bothered about, the loss of the land or what they have and will find?' Spencer checked his escape routes as he spoke.

'I'm pissed about both. That was my first tract of land when I came over here. Fucking hell Spencer… but then you know? But the fuck!' Floyd punched a wall and then kicked out at chair. Spencer backed out towards the hallway – slowly.

'When were you last there?'

'Ah – let me think… And why are you backing away? It was in… the winter, well no, because I left in the spring, so the last time I was there? Well it must have been in 1795… I might be a year off either way.'

Spencer snorted a laugh. He didn't mean to, but it happened anyway. He stopped backing off and looked around for a weapon to defend himself with. 'Floyd… That was a long old time ago. Any bones found there…'

'It's not that Spencer. Don't you understand? The place is more of a cemetery than anything. I know that I can't be accused of any killings, but that doesn't alter the fact that they're going to dig up bones of people I have placed there. Not at random. They were treated with respect after I'd eaten what I could. Those skulls were special though. I'm pissed off about that. It's not the only problem though. I need to know who has been delving in and taking what is mine. How can my kills travel onto the next life if their passage has been halted?'

Spencer took a few steps to the side and stood behind a high backed wooden chair. He was ready to smack Floyd around the head with it if he came for him, but attempted to make it look like he was casually holding onto it for grim death. 'It was over two hundred years ago that you were last there? You've not been back at all in all of that time? I know from personal experience how quickly a soul travels… they will be settled in somewhere else by now, Floyd. It wont harm their souls… not now.'

'Time is twisty.' A voice now spoke from behind them. Sam stood there in his boxers. His hair was untied and hanging down over his head and face like the demon from the movie Ring. 'It might travel forwards here, but that doesn't mean that it travels forwards where they have gone. You know that Spencer. Someone buried here might have to wait thousands of years for the time to come for them. It's why people pray for the dead. It goes back to that. They beg the gods to take on the soul and spirit of the departed. Really if it all happened in a blink and all decisions were made that quickly as to the outcome of a soul, what's the point in praying for the dead?'

Spencer turned to look at Sam and gave that horribly thin body a once over. 'We are not talking about Christianity.' Spencer told Sam.

'It's all rooted in the same place. We ask for the gods to favour the dead and hope that they'll go to their Valhalla or wherever it is they want to go… they have to cross the river… some take longer than others to complete that and for some time is twisty. That's why the resting place of a person is sacred and should never be disturbed. Some trips take eternities… some only minutes. Who's to say who is who and which way the clock ticks?'

'Thank you Sam.' Floyd smirked. 'That's exactly how it is. What we need to do is one of a few things… forget it and let them rot, go to the land, find the remains and move them on quickly before they're disturbed, or we can sit here and wait… they will come for us.'

That was enough for Spencer to hear. He didn't want Zombies coming after him… absolutely not! They would have to go to the land and do whatever it takes to move them on quickly. 'How will we know who has moved on and who hasn't? And how do we force them onwards?' Insanity, it seemed, was catching.

'I will know if they moved on or not, Sam can twiddle with time and get them going if they're still hanging around.'

'If I want to.' Sam told Floyd. 'I'm not your slave. You should ask me nicely. It's going to be nasty work. I don't much relish spending days looking for bones in a haunted woodland or whatever it is… and that doesn't answer the problem of the bones which Rossi showed you. He said he had Anthony's bones. Let's just home he's moved on over…'

'Which he hasn't.' Floyd snapped. 'Why the fuck do you think this is all so disturbing? The body was left almost whole. I didn't take his head. I took his heart and his liver.'

'Oh is that all.' Spencer found him self say… he took hold of his shield chair again.

'What I meant, Spencer, is that I didn't take trophies. I didn't leave parts of him and I didn't strip him… in that I mean I didn't take the flesh from his bones. He was reasonably whole. Now that makes me ask the question of who the hell stripped him, because though I didn't see his bones I could feel them and they were damaged.'

'Teeth marks?' Sam asked. 'It could have been animals.'

'Tool marks.' Floyd told Sam. 'At least I think it was… I need to see them, but I don't want to see them with Rossi watching me. I want to go to whoever took them in the first place, kill the fuck and then deal with Anthony. He will forgive me, but he's going to so pissed off if he's been in a box in storage and all of my protective chants were for nothing. Fuck him! Fuck Iolanda! Why didn't I know this before? Why couldn't I sense he'd been doing this?'

'Because you're always too full of yourself to consider those around you.' Sam told Floyd. 'I'm going to go shower and get dressed. Spencer can you braid my hair again for me? You have such gentle hands.'

Sam rushed from the room. An ash tray slammed against the door as it swung shut and now Floyd stood daring Spencer to complain.

Floyd wanted, needed to spend his day shouting at people. This was going to mean a trip to Maine and that was something he didn't want to do. Not because he didn't want to visit Maine, but because it would involve a long journey with a griping Sam and a snappy Spencer. They might not start of griping and snapping, but by the time they arrived the three of them would be ready to kill each other. Floyd wanted peace, not fighting. The only other option was to leave Sam and Spencer behind and go alone, but then again that wasn't an option as Floyd had no want to leave them alone for that long. He'd come home and find the house burnt to the ground and Spencer in jail for selling his arse to some cop in a public restroom… And Sam would be in some youths detention centre and that wasn't something Floyd wanted. So he paced and started at Spencer trying to get him to say something worthy of a slapping… or maybe just moving in a way which could warrant it.

The door was knocked on and Spencer moved a hand… but said nothing and didn't move. Floyd gave him a _go answer the fucking door_ look and when he didn't respond he threw the words into Spencer's head like a lightning bolt.

_Go And Answer The Fucking Door!_

'Ah…' Spencer responded by putting his hands over his face like a child hiding from a monster. 'The door.' He then groaned. 'Floyd it hurts my brain when you do that.'

_And You Think That's Going To Stop Me?_

It was a screaming howl of rage which made Spencer's eyes water. 'I'll get the door.' The words barely audible. They didn't have to be heard, Floyd could see he was moving slowly out of the room. To Spencer it felt like he was walking through thigh deep mud. It was a slow and tiring walk with Sam shouting down the stairs that the cops were at the door. This filled Spencer with all the joy that it deserved. The cops. What now? What could they want with them this time?

There were three cops standing there in uniform. Again this wasn't what Spencer expected. Uniformed cops rarely came to see them. It seemed that they automatically got upgraded to Fed each time trouble started.

'We would like to speak to the adult in charge.' The short moustached cop standing closest to the door asked.

'You can talk to me. Is there a problem?'

'May we come in and have a word?'

No they couldn't. Floyd was in a mood and the cops would likely die if he let them in. 'I'd rather you didn't. I'm happy to talk to you here. What's the problem officer?'

'We have a list of complaints. Most of them we've put down to too much heavy partying by you and your friends and so keep the noise down in here will you? The thing which really concerns us is the behaviour of a young man who we've been told, reliably, goes by the name of Sam.'

Spencer raised an eyebrow. Had Sam been killing the local dogs and cats again? He didn't think so. 'Er.' Spencer said. 'Yes Sam lives here. What is it he's meant to have done?' Spencer's mind reeled through the hundreds of things which could be attributed to Sam.

'Exposing himself at an upstairs window. Performing sexual acts in front of the window. Are you sure you don't want us to come in and talk about this?'

Spencer stood with his mouth open. He snapped it shut and slowly shook his head. 'Which window?' Sam's bedroom window looked over the front so Spencer already knew the answer to that question, but he had to gather his thoughts. He needed time to think. 'Are you sure it was Sam?'

'Unless there's another young man with a disgusting sense of humour living here?'

Spencer moved off the porch and onto the long grass out the front. He glanced up at Sam's bedroom window and shook his head. 'I'll have a word with him. It wont happen again. I'm sorry. He's a special needs child… man… boy… youth… He probably doesn't understand what he's doing.' He looked up at the dirty smears over Sam's window and his stomach churned.

'He seems to know very well what he's doing. Consider this a first warning. If it happens again we will be talking to him and not to his… what are you? His big brother?'

Reid said nothing. He didn't deny it or claim that's what he was. He had to be oh so very careful. 'I will talk to him.'

'See that you do. This is a nice neighbourhood.'

'Very nice.' Spencer confirmed. 'I'm sorry.'

The cops nodded, ripped a bit o paper off a pad and handed it to Spencer. 'That's confirmation that we've spoken to you on the subject. Is the lad around so we can…'

'He's not available.' Dear god… Sam couldn't be left for five minutes alone and not do something repulsive.

'Clean that damned window!' The cop shouted over his shoulder. They seemed for once to have gotten off lightly. Spencer watched the Kitten across the road twitch at her curtain. Had Sam been jerking off in the window at her? It wasn't funny.

Spencer didn't know why he was smiling.

Sam denied everything. He seemed horrified at the idea that someone would claim that he'd done such a thing. Floyd just shook his head and walked from the room without killing anyone. The strange mood and atmosphere in the house seemed to be getting odder.

'Well it wasn't me and it wasn't Floyd.' Spencer said to Sam.

'I have never and would never _ever_ expose myself in public… Let me rephrase that. I have never and would never expose myself in public unless I was being paid. At least not often and not at home. Why would I? I can get all I want from Floyd and you.' Sam sulked his way to the kitchen where he slammed cupboard doors.

Sam hated some people. You couldn't even have a private moment and not been over looked by some whore across the street, or by the kids on their bikes and skateboards… and the mums walking dogs… and the mailman and that fat boy with the funny blue hat and pants too tight around the middle and too long in the leg. Bloody people! He had in mind to go out the front and let them all see what they'd been missing, but his chance was gone as Floyd barged through the kitchen door, grabbed Sam by his hair and headbutted him firmly between his eyes. It wasn't hard but it was enough to cause Sam's thoughts to come to an end and for the crying and whining to start.

'I didn't expose myself!'

'Then what is this?' Floyd stuck his tongue out at Sam.

Sam stood looking at Floyd and backed away with a hand pressed on the rising lump between his eyes. 'Your tongue?' He asked.

'What could I taste with it?'

'Oh fucking hell! Don't tell me you just went and licked my window? What the hell is wrong with everyone?'

'Why is your semen on your window?' Floyd licked his lips and walked towards the fridge. He got out a carton of milk and took a swig from the little opening and then replaced it. 'Why?' Floyd asked again.

Sam sighed and sat at the kitchen table. 'It's just sometimes when the light is right I can see my reflection in the glass and I can't help myself.'

'You fuck your reflection?' Floyd sounded shocked, stunned… amused?

'I make love to it. It's beautiful. It's not fair that I'm the most gorgeous one. I want to be able to have me.'

Floyd laughed. He actually sat down on a chair, put his head in his hands and laughed. 'You dirty mother fucker!' The words though were broken up with the cackle of Floyd's amusement. 'You can't do that. Not in a damned window! What the hell must the people think?' He looked up at Sam who had his defiant look on his face. 'Do you know you're being watched?' This sounded a bit more serious.

Sam bit down on his bottom lip and then pulled over a pack of smokes from the table. 'Yeah. They stand and watch, but that's not why I do it. It's for me. I want to feel me.'

'Stupid child. Go clean the window when you've finished that and next time use a mirror. There's a full length one in the bathroom and there's one in the hallway, but if that's a habit you have to get into, carry some window wipes with you. Unbelievably nasty… and fucking funny too. You crack me up sometimes. Don't do it again, Sam. You'll end up in the care of the authorities.'

Sam sighed. He'd gotten away with it and not been killed. He had a lump between his eyes to remind him not to do it again and now Floyd was throwing window wipes at him and gesturing for him to leave the room and it was at that point that someone else started to knock on the door. Floyd didn't do a mind shout at Spencer this time. He leapt from his place at the table and still almost smiling went to the door himself. Spencer stood in the hallway with his back to the wall, looking at his feet… getting ready to run away or clean up blood or something. The laughter had unsettled him. He didn't like it when Floyd laughed like that… it was like the large gaping cracks in his sanity let out a scream of something monstrous. It was a terrifying sound to Spencer. It was unpredictable. It was a forewarning of something really bad.

'What?' Floyd spoke to the collection of six over sized and over aged women standing on his porch. Not a pie to be seen. This wasn't a social visit. This sort of person never turned up for social occasions without a pie or two. 'What?' Now he shouted at them. One took step back and fell down the porch steps. She lay groaning and was ignored by the other five who seemed to be stuck in place by some un-natural force. 'WHAT?' Now Floyd bellowed. 'Don't hammer on my damned door if you don't have pie!'

Spencer flinched. The insanity was showing… pie? What was Floyd on about? Spencer wondered if he should move and take over from Floyd, but the same force which had glued those women in place now fixed Spencer to the wall and wasn't going to release him yet.

'We are the residents' committee.' A quivery old voice which belonged to an old bag with a blue rinse said.

'That's nice.' Floyd told them. 'I've lived here a while now. Why the visit?'

'Mr Flanders?' A pause… 'We are here because there have been complaints and we wanted to ask you if something could be done.'

'Complaints?'

A bit of paper was produced and snatched away by Floyd who read the list aloud. 'The grass, front, sides and rear needs attention. The plants need dead heading, the driveway needs to be cleared of debris… the rear window of the property is smashed and causes a security hazard. The paintwork needs attention. The noise has to be lowered.' Floyd handed the bit of paper back. 'You are here to complain about my grass?'

'It makes the other properties look…'

'Then cut my grass when you do yours. I'm not going to stop you. Just ask before you come round back, and I'm sure you must have done or you'd not know about the kitchen window or the grass out back, but yeah, next time ask or I will assume that you are there to threaten me and/or my loved ones and will be within my rights to kill you. Now if you don't mind… Oh… another thing – I have frequent anal sex with my boyfriend in the garden. Just sayin'.'

Floyd turned walked inside and slammed the door. 'You do what?' Spencer asked Floyd.

'Well I thought that the idea of seeing me fuck you out back… In the rear so to speak was a bigger deterrent than death. Fucking nosy fucks.' Floyd twitched a smirk. Spencer was happy with smirks, those he could cope with.

'So apart from the hassle from the neighbours and the police, what are we going to do about this property of yours in Maine? Can we go there and sort it out? Can you employ someone to go and deal with it?'

Floyd took Spencer's hand and they sat happily for a few moments on the couch. 'I need to go and sort it out. Really I need to go. It's just the thought of travelling with you and Sam which does my head in, but I might have an idea on that. What do you think? Would Rossi take us there if I was to show him burial sites I don't want disturbed? He's interested in this shit. He doesn't understand it. He thinks I'm delusional and paranoid. It'd be kind of fun to see that cock sure smile wiped off his face.'

'We would have to go by car.' Spencer sighed.

'Dave can drive.'

'You've not asked him yet.' Spencer pointed out.

'I know, but it's an offer he'll be unable to refuse. A few days with me and you and Sam? No man can resist that. And Rossi is itching to get behind what makes me tick. He'll do it.'

It might work… At least Spencer thought it might. Floyd had a sly sort of respect for Rossi and Rossi wasn't a threat to them in the way that would cause problems. Sam might stir trouble, but with all that will go on… 'Is the place going to be haunted?' Spencer wanted to know.

'Oh I think that is putting it mildly, Spence. It's going to scare the shit out of that old dude. Give him heart failure. He'll never be the same again and he'll respect me in a way he hasn't so far. I think he might even respect you too. You have to be able to see the truth to be able to see why.'

'Hotch knew the truth.' Spencer pointed out.

'Hotch is an stuffed up arsehole. He gives no leeway for anything out of his ball park. Rossi is different. His mind is open.'

'Well if we had a telephone I'd suggest you call him and ask.' Spencer gestured at the smashed plastic.

Floyd stood and gave Spencer a hair rub. 'Use your cell. Call him. Tell him I want to meet him here. Tonight.'


	54. Chapter 54

54

They had the meeting. It was Spencer, Floyd and Rossi. Sam had been sent to his room with his laptop in an attempt to give him something to do and located Iolanda. It was still a shot in the dark that was who was causing trouble, but shooting in the dark was better than standing there in the dark being shot at. At least that was Spencer's thoughts on it.

Rossi had agreed to come and see them out of deep curiosity as to where this was going to lead to.

At that point he had no idea that the road he was taking could quite easily take him straight to hell.

Floyd had provided snacks of pate (liver – home made – home harvested too, but he didn't have to tell Rossi that.) There were cheeses and crackers and once again Floyd seemed to have slipped back a few centuries and had provided sugared plums and marchpane sweetmeats. All very odd. There was wine, or there was coffee or any number of soft drinks available. They sat on cushions on the floor and Rossi gave the spread of food for just the two of them a frown. There was enough food here for ten grown men. Floyd was overcompensating for something and the frown slipped off of Rossi's face and was replaced with a small inward grin.

'I need you to drive me to Maine.'

A good opener from Floyd. Rossi just sat with his legs crossed and a cracker half buried in pate in his hand. 'Maine. To the land.'

'Obviously. I have a solicitor on the business of the financial side, but I need to go and lay restless souls back to peace.'

Rossi nibbled on the odd tasting pate. It was good stuff. Floyd was an excellent cook it seemed. He didn't know how Reid managed to stay so skinny. 'And why do you need me to come with you for that?'

'A compulsory purchase order was made by the State. Apparently the woodlands have been mostly flattened and are now used for farming… grazing. I guess in a way that's a good thing, not too much ploughing going on, but there will be a problem with me saying things like… "I buried Jack Sawtooth at the base of the elm with the double twist and the triple root facing westerly." The tree would no longer be there.'

Rossi nodded and took more of the delicious pate. 'The tree would probably be dead by now anyway. It's been a long time. Over two hundred years since you've been there?' He attempted to humour the man. Let Flanders think that he believed him. It was the easiest way to deal with people who were so delusional and insane that they really thought that they'd been alive for hundreds of years.

'This is true, which is why I'm not strapping on my wings and flying up there personally right this second. I forgive the change in land usage. But that doesn't alter the fact that there are going to be Wild Spirits… and they're not going to be too happy with me or with the person responsible for their awakening. I have to locate the remains and say some words and sprinkle some oil and water.'

'A ghost hunt?' Rossi licked some pate off his fingers. Spencer was sitting nibbling at a bit of cheese wondering how Rossi could be so negative about what he, Spencer did and then sit there and eat that stuff Floyd had provided. Was Dave so blind that he just refused to believe? If he ever found out what it was he was actually eating his opinion might change. He might be able to see how Spencer might not want to be cannibalistic, but wasn't this proof of how easy one can slip… slip a long old way down. Spencer felt sick. He didn't want to go ghost hunting. He wanted stability and he wanted to feel safe… He let out a squeak which had been the beginning of a laugh that he managed to cut short before he was asked what he was laughing at.

'Not really a ghost hunt. I wont be hunting… more of an archaeological dig, only we wont need to dig. I will feel the lure.'

The door opened and Sam stood there fully dressed with his hair in two long braids hanging down either side of his head. He had on his dungarees and a Tshirt. He actually looked like a very strange looking girl standing there. He flapped a bit paper at Floyd and twitched a smile at Rossi. 'I found the cunt.' And all innocence was swept away from Sam with that last word.

'Mind your fucking language. We have a sodding guest.'

'Go shag a goat.' Sam replied to that. 'I've been doing your shitting work and now I want drink and food. Budge over Spencer.' And Sam flopped down onto the cushion next to Reid. 'Mmm… pate…' Sam dug a finger into it and hooked out a lump.

Had they been alone Floyd would have smacked his nose bone up into this brain, but they weren't alone so all Sam got was an elbow from Spencer and hushed words asking him to not use his fingers. Sam responded by wiping his nose on the back of one hand and grabbing Spencer between the legs with the other. It was hidden from Rossi's view, but that didn't mean that Spencer wanted that hand where it was.

'You found Iolanda?' Floyd reached for the bit of paper, but Sam moved it quickly back out of the way.

'Nu hu…not so quick big boy. We still on that promise and if so where's the kit?' Sam waggled the paper out of Floyd's reach.

This interaction between these three intrigued Rossi. On one hand it was very at ease and natural and yet on the other it was like they were always on the verge of killing each other. No wonder Reid had had a breakdown of sorts. No surprise that Sam was so strange. As for Flanders? Rossi thought the man should be locked up. He was dangerous to everything and everyone, but proving it seemed to be the hurdle they just couldn't get over. The business with Jack weighed heavily on Rossi. He needed to find who had done it and there were absolutely no leads. Just deep suspicion which seemed in one respect to be an honourable suspicion and then when you blinked and looked again you realised that you were being as paranoid and delusional as Flanders. It was catching.

'Side drawer in my room, but later. First tell me what you found out.'

Sam grinned at Rossi. 'You might not be aware that I am a super brain.' He smirked. 'There's not much you can hide from me when it comes to locating things or people. If they're out there they leave a trail of some kind. It's virtually impossible _not_ to leave a trail and actually when the trail goes cold it's sometimes easier to follow the gaps rather than scrabbling around trying to find something that's not there.' Floyd gave Sam a gesture to get on with it and stop wasting time. 'Right… Iolanda is really hard to locate. His name is in existence up until around three years ago and then all goes quiet. But we would have expected that, because that's around when Iolanda met his maker.' Sam dipped his head and raised the side of his hand to his forehead like a salute. 'May the demons tear his wicked soul apart for an eternity.' Sam hissed under his breath. He glanced up at Rossi and smiled a big tooth filled smile. 'Apologies…' Sam said and carried on again. 'Louis Iolanda is also known to go by the name of Louis Franco. Or Lewis Franks. Which is obviously the family name going way way back long before the internet or even cocaine had been invented… so I looked then for Franco and Franks.' Sam then turned to look at Rossi. 'Just stop when you hear a name you recognise… Franks is the name many of the Franco's took up as an alternative and less foreign sounding name. If you go back and look at family records you will see that happens a lot. The names get changed so suit the country that person is now living it. It helps them fit in better. So Franco became Franks. But we knew that already because that's what I just told you. Lewis Franks appeared on the scene actually ten years before Iolanda left his. You might ask how I know they are the same person? Well both had been arrested. Different States and this country doesn't always confer when it's a mild case of trespass or something mild, but both men were arrested for the same crime, a week apart and a state apart. Grave robbing – attempted.' Sam smiled. 'Sure they could have been different people, but I know by going forwards in time a bit that they weren't. They had mug shots.' Sam pulled a bit of paper out of his pocket and slammed it on the table, making Rossi's glass of elderberry and cranberry lightly sparkling soft drink, rattle and bubbles pop on the surface. 'Same face. A face I feel sure that Rossi recognises as Professor L Franks from the local State Uni. He specialises in relics. Bones… that sort of shit. Now I know it's him cos I just went through all of the uni records until I came upon someone with the last name of Franks… or Franco, or even Iolanda, but I came to Franks first. He's a relative of Floyd's. You can see the similarity, but Louis Franco is a bit shorter and more inclined to put on a bit of weight… and he's receding here.' Sam put his hand on his front hairline. 'Anyway, that's your man. Did I do good or did I do brilliantly… can I go now?'

Sam put the paper down for Floyd to see. The lists he'd picked up on… the paper trail was there and glaringly obvious now that they knew what to look for. Floyd wasn't sure that he would have been able to do what Sam had done with such speed. He could have done it… but not so fast… Spencer could have done it, but on paper via the telephone and Rossi? Well it didn't matter because Rossi knew who it was they were looking for anyway.

'Well… I wont have to question you on that one anymore, but I need to ask you to bring Anthony's bones here as soon as you can.' Floyd pushed the list towards Rossi. 'He stole them. He's a grave robber. Can you think of a more disgusting crime?'

Rossi could actually, but he took the paper anyway. 'I'll look at it and double check this if you don't mind, and I'm sorry but I can't order the man to provide me with the remains again. They will be cremated I would hope. That was what was requested.'

Floyd leaned over the table and looked carefully at Rossi. 'I'm not your friend.' He told him. 'I'm using you.' At least he was being honest. 'I don't understand you. You confuse me and for that reason I'm going to believe you. I can't see a reason why you would lie to me, but please remember who you are dealing with. Don't fuck with me Rossi or I'm going to lose my temper. Spencer here is with me on this. Sam is with me on this. We are tight. Come between us and feel my wrath. Do you wish to come and see me locate the bones? I would like to show you a bit more of my world because I don't think that you believe me. You think I'm not quite right in the head.'

Rossi stood. 'I'll come with you. I'll drive you there.' He wanted to see Floyd pretend to find bones. The idea of the failure sort of pleased Rossi. He wanted to see Floyd look like the delusional psychopath he was. 'I will ask about the bones, but I can promise you nothing.'

'I'll go get them myself then and my method of collection wont be as nice as yours. Thank you Dave. You don't mind me calling you Dave do you? No? Good… then Dave it is. Can you be there tomorrow? Your lovely SUV will be much nicer to travel in than my old van. I would offer to drive but… Well look at the expression on Spencer's face. I seem to alarm people when I drive; especially when I drive something which doesn't belong to me. A total lack of respect I guess. Anyway, it'll be a few days drive. I'll pay all costs. This is going to be fun! Bring holy water if you have any… bring a prayer book if you have belief in that. The actual religion is irrelevant it's belief that protects. Blind arrogance. This is going to be marvellous! You seem to ground me, Dave. I tend to have on my hat when I'm around you. Not a real hat, mind, but the hat of common sense and sanity. I feel great! Do you feel great, Dave? Get a lot of sleep. It's a long drive.' He stood on the porch and waved a goodbye to Dave and then turned back into the small happy house.

Sam had found what he wanted in the drawer and had moved back to his own room to shoot up and relax for a while. He liked to do work like that for Floyd. He liked to feel that he had a use. He loved that Floyd respected him and trusted him to do it. The expression of pride on Floyd's face was so rare and so wondrous that it made Sam want to cry with happiness. Floyd loved him! He knew that because he had a needle in his hand ready. If providing your boys with their drug of choice wasn't love, then what was?

Spencer pulled a face at Floyd when he walked back in and collapsed on a cushion again. It was a face of _how could you have done that_? But Floyd wasn't sure why that particular face was being pulled at him. 'What?' He asked as he spread pate over a cracker and stuffed it into his mouth.

'You know what.' Spencer replied. He had a slither of orange coloured cheese laying in the palm of his hand. He was prodding it with a finger, but giving Floyd that look again.

Floyd didn't know what though. He had no idea. 'I've behaved. I kept my hands safe. I kept my tongue safe. What the fuck have I done wrong now? Cheese not to your liking?'

'Cheese is fine. It's the pate I'm more wary of. That's not duck or chicken is it?'

'It's not duck or chicken.' Floyd confirmed. 'Does it matter? Liver is liver… where it comes from is not really the problem. If you don't like liver and have a problem eating internal organs, then don't eat pate. I never told him to. It was there. He took some. What was I to say… "Before you eat that, Dave, I should tell you that it comes from a hooker on Sennith Street."'

'You're disgusting!'

'Can we change the subject please? This is a happy time! We are going to get done what we need. It's good! All is good!'

Spencer put the cheese down and closed his eyes for a moment. How could he tell Floyd that he didn't want to go? He wanted to stay here and let Floyd go alone. It would give him breathing space. He really didn't want to go and explore a wood full of restless spirits… and probably Iolanda. Floyd terrified Spencer sometimes, but Floyd had never (as far as he was aware) ripped a rib out of his chest and nibbled on it. It made Spencer's chest hurt just thinking about it. The man was, in Spencer's opinion, more dangerous than Floyd, because Iolanda would happily kill. He was like Floyd but upgraded a few notches and also didn't give a damn what happened to Spencer. 'The man… he… I don't know if I can deal with being near him.'

'Dave?' Floyd helped himself to more Hooker Pate. 'He's going to be great. He'll learn a shit load of shit and get off my case.'

Spencer went to stand up, but the gaze he got from Floyd made him stay where he was for now. 'Not Dave. Iolanda.'

'I wont let him hurt you.'

'You couldn't stop him last time.' Spencer reminded him.

'I know what to expect now. I wont let him hurt you. Spencer…' Floyd spat food over the table as he spoke. '…I promise. I wont let the bastard hurt you.'

That was some promise. If it had come from any other person it wouldn't have helped the feeling of dread, but this was Floyd and a promise with Floyd was totally binding. 'Thank you.'

'Welcome. Now eat pate and enjoy. Don't let the whore's death be for nothing.'

o-o-o

The three of them, Spencer, Floyd and Sam made a pact between the three of them. Each had a vice which Floyd thought and Spencer agreed would have to be laid to rest whilst in the company of Rossi. Spencer could have his pain killers when he needed them. Floyd had been spiking the capsules with meds to slow down his thinking process slightly. It made Spencer less jumpy and paranoid, but not quite completely out of his head. Sam was not allowed to shoot up. He could snort, but no needles. No blatant sexual remarks to be made too often. Trying to get Sam not to say something occasionally would be impossible and Floyd could only kill him once. Sam agreed to this deal, but only because they were going to be going somewhere exciting and doing something which would make Spencer piss him self, and a bit of self sacrifice was worth that. Spencer part of this deal was not to pick and cause arguments. Spencer was ready to deny that it was him who started it, but simply by doing that he would be causing an un-necessary wave, so he remained silent. The command that he wasn't permitted to touch or otherwise induce erections was also something Spencer was ready to deny he did and yet kept silent apart from agreeing to keep his hands to himself.

'And your dirty whore's mouth.' Sam said.

Spencer agreed to that also.

'Except when we are locked away from Rossi, like in a hotel room or something?' Sam asked with a pleading begging look on his face.

Floyd's part of the deal was not to hit anyone, not to drive, not to drink (to excess – which Floyd would decide). He was not to take drugs which would put the rest of them in danger. He was not to kill anyone, or drink blood… in public. Floyd reluctantly agreed. He pointed out that it seemed he had more than the rest of them to have to agree to. He said that it seemed slightly unbalanced.

'If you didn't go around killing people then serving them up for lunch to a fucking Fed then we'd not have to say something.'

Spencer made a small retching sound. 'Going to be sick.' He got up and left the room in a hurry. The image of Rossi spreading that food over his cracker and eating it was all a bit too much. He wished Floyd wasn't so in your face with his games, but this was a very old thing which he liked to do. Spencer could remember Floyd serving up chilli made from one of his kills to Gideon. That was going back a good few years now.

Spencer used the small downstairs bathroom to puke in the toilet. He knelt on the floor and heaved and retched until specks of blood could be seen in the liquid he was spitting out. He didn't hear Floyd walk in. He didn't know he was there until a cool damp wash cloth was placed on the back of his neck. Floyd didn't talk, but knelt down next to Spencer and rubbed a hand soothingly over Spencer's back. It was like a parent comforting a child. The cloth was removed and now Spencer could hear the faucet running and Floyd refreshing the coolness of the cloth. It was ice cold and wonderful when Floyd draped it over the back of his neck again.

'What can I get you?' Floyd now asked him. 'Water? A drink of water? Some of that vile mint tea crap? A bit of candy?'

Spencer pulled some paper off the roll next to the toilet and wiped at his mouth. 'Water, please.' He sighed. 'My breathe stinks.' Spencer added.

'I've kissed things far more stinky than vomit breath, but I wasn't going to snog you anyway. Thing is that I know this is going to be nasty work, but I can't risk leaving you unprotected. He'll know and he'll take you.'

Spencer turned back to the bowl and started heaving again. It wasn't something he could think about and _not_ chuck up.

'I promised I'll look after you.' Again that hand gently rubbing on Spencer's back. 'I'll let him take me before I let him get his hands on you again. I'm not letting you out of my sight.'

'Floyd, if he's been messing with you all this time…'

'Don't even go there.' The rubbing became slightly rougher.

'What is he doing this for?'

'Because… Spencer, I need you to give me your word that even in temper or anger that you'll not repeat this.' Floyd saw the slight nod of Spencer's head. 'Well I pissed Iolanda off a lot when I smashed his skull and ate his brains.' More heaving and puking sounds came from Spencer. At least he was in the right place to hear this story. 'Then obviously I've pissed him off with Sam too. He wanted to keep him as his dog, but he wasn't his property. He is mine. You see? He was meant to care for the Sam-Boy, not fuck him and tie him up and keep him with the dogs. Sam wasn't meant to live in dog shit… he couldn't even walk until I went there when he was about five or six and I kicked up a fuss. I said I'd have social services on him if he didn't get his act together. I needed Sam mothered and loved and it didn't happen. Iolanda moved Sam into a cage with the other dogs. He got what love he could from them.'

More puking sounds.

'What I'm saying is that this is because I pissed him off because of Sam. I think he'll leave you alone. I don't think he will leave Sam alone. It was Iolanda who took that boy's virginity. It was him who introduced him to drugs. It was him who allowed that boy to…'

'I get it… enough.'

'But you have to understand.'

'I do.' Spencer wiped at his mouth again. 'You are blaming all of Sam's problems on Iolanda.'

'Abso-fucking-lutely! I was hardly there! He was perfect when he was created and that cunt fucked him up. It's a tale of woe… a dreadful dark miserable story of hate, abuse and a child struggling to cope.'

Spencer wanted to laugh. It sounded so much like an advert for a second rate TV show… it _should_ be a second rate TV show. Spencer would watch it for the amusement factor. 'All right. So we need to keep our eyes on Sam. Keep him safe and keep a watch out for Iolanda.'

'Yup… and Rossi will be there too. He will be the only one not looking over his shoulder. At least he wont be on the way out. I'm sure that his mind will unhinge at some point… we will be bringing back a believer. There's no other way this will go. And he's on our side. He will understand. Not like Hotchner who _knew_ and still denied. Not like Prentiss who also knows and also denies. Not like JJ who I so want to kill… sweety… Spencer my love… my dearest darling, you know I would do anything for you... Please don't hate me. I'll not hurt her.'

'Leave JJ alone. She is a mother. Let her bring her child up. Killing JJ is… wrong… wrong because killing someone just because you don't like their hair or mouth is wrong.'

'It's the teeth. I hate teeth that glow in the dark.'

'Leave her alone. You'll be destroying the life of her child.'

Floyd nodded and removed the wash cloth from Spencer's neck. 'Feeling any better?'

He wasn't, but Floyd was doing his best here to sooth his aching head and stop him from freaking out. 'I'll be OK.' He told him.


	55. Chapter 55

55

Rossi called the house the following morning. There was no reply as the land line was still without a telephone so he tried Spencer's cell phone. It worried and irritated Rossi that it was Sam who answered the call.

'This is Sam.' He sounded snuffly, like he had a cold, or had been crying. Both would have been wrong, Sam had a nose bleed and was feeling slightly wobbly in his head after snorting something he maybe shouldn't have and would avoid in the future. He had been sitting in the lounge feeling very sorry for him self and listening to the romping and banging going on upstairs. Spencer had apparently gone to do some light housework and Floyd had run behind him offering to help. It didn't sound as though they were getting much work done though.

'It's Rossi.' Dave didn't like that this number was Reid's private way to communicate with the outside world and Sam had hold of it.

Sam knew who it was, even through his slightly fuddled head. 'Yeah? You crying off?' That almost sounded to Dave as though Sam was hoping he would.

'No,' Dave stood from the chair he'd been sitting on and started pacing. 'I have things I need to sort out here. Tomorrow I'll be available.'

'Gives me time to employ a gardener and get someone to fix the kitchen window. Can't go away leaving all this shit around and I can't ask Floyd or Spencer to do it. They seem to be playing acrobats on the bed right now. Spencer might look weak and wasted, but he's not a load of energy when it comes to his sex life.'

That was far more information than Rossi wanted to know, but it seemed typical of Sam to say something like that. 'You will pass on my message?'

'I will.' Sam then paused. 'Dave? Can I ask you something? This Professor Franks… I know who he really is and I'm kind of worried about meeting him. Can I confide in you? I know I can't in Spencer, he'll freak and tell Floyd and obviously I can't tell Floyd, but can I confide? Will you blab if I say something?'

Rossi sat back down again. These three continued to confound him. He'd think he had it all sorted in his head and then something would happen and his mind would be changed again. 'I'll not say anything if you don't want me to and if it's not going to cause someone to get hurt.'

'That's the thing Dave. I don't know… I have this deep… very deep and everlasting hatred for Iolanda or Franks… whatever he's calling himself but I also have a huge fear of him. It's almost debilitating it's so strong and I know Spencer is scared half out of his wits too. It's going to end up as a show down with just you and Floyd cos I don't thing Spencer can help and I don't think I'll be able to. I can't do anything physically against Franks. He was like a father to me. He was all I had. What if I turn my coat and go back with him? I don't know that I'll be able to stop myself. I don't think I should go, but I'm not staying here, but should I say something to Floyd or leave it…'

'Leave it. We might not even meet the man. It might just be this ghost hunt and nothing else. Relax. Spend the day pampering yourself. We've a long drive ahead.'

'Will you protect me?' Sam asked Dave.

'Of course.'

'Will you keep Franks away from me?'

'If that's what you want.'

Sam then asked. 'Will you kill him for me?'

There was a small bit of silence. A grin spread over Sam's face. 'Sam, if that is part of protecting you…'

'Dave? Will you die for me?'

Rossi wished he was standing up, because he wanted to sit down and he already was! He pulled the phone away from his ear and looked at it. What the hell was he getting him self into here? 'I don't think it will come to that, Sam. You are worrying over a few old bones. There's nothing to protect you from. I've said I will… it will have to satisfy you.'

'Oh it does! Don't get me wrong, Dave. I'll go with you. I feel safer when you're around.' Sam smirked at his end of the phone. 'Floyd is calling me. I think he wants me to join in. I love a threeway… do you?' He pressed the red _off_ button before Rossi could reply.

Floyd wasn't calling him. Floyd was having fun without him and though he probably could have gone up there and watched and maybe even joined in he was waiting to be called. He waited a long time. In the time he waited he employed a gardener… 'Front and back needs mowing, the plants need to be treated for the winter… herbs need to be gathered, and the porch has pots and stuff, they need tending too.' That sorted, Sam then called in someone to get the back window fixed. By the time Floyd bounced happily back down stairs the back window was fixed and someone was cutting back the front field. He didn't bother asking Sam if he'd sorted it. He must have done. No one else here to have. Therefore it didn't need him to thank him. After all it was Sam who had broken the kitchen window in the first place.

Sat at the piano picking out a slow miserable tune. Floyd joined him and handed Sam a can of lager and had a glass of wine himself. 'Can you choose something a bit more up tempo? Something to suit my mood?' Floyd asked Sam.

'I'm not playing it to suit your mood.' Sam slammed his fingers down on the keyboard. 'It's to reflect my own.' Now a very fast and mad out of key racket started. 'Take note.' Sam then closed the lid, wishing Floyd's fingers had been in the way. 'I don't want to go with you. I will do because ultimately I think I will be safer in company. But I don't like it one jiggedy bit. Just letting you know. I've lived with the man. I know what he's capable of. I was there that time they dragged you and Spencer in off the street and drilled a hole in your head. I was there when they were going to skin Spencer. I was out there tied to a tree. I was covered in fucking sores and cuts. My back was open and bleeding. I still have marks on my back from what that bastard had recently done. That said… I don't know if my loyalty is going to crumble. And it scares me.'

Floyd had lifted his drink. He was going to toss the contents in Sam's face and now pulled back and placed the drink down. 'I wasn't aware.'

'You must of known I was there! You sent me there!'

'Oh I knew you were there. I just didn't know you had divided loyalties. Take one step in the wrong direction and I will smash your head apart with a rock. I'll tear you limb from limb, so go and lay down and consider your loyalties.'

Sam didn't move though. Floyd was being stupid on purpose again and it rattled Sam so much! 'I'm not saying that my loyalties are divided. I just scared I'll not be able to stop going to him if he calls me.' A sudden and unexpected line of tears suddenly trickled down Sam's cheeks. 'I want to be with you. You know that! You must know that, I'm really scared that he'll click his fingers and I'll go running. I don't want you to hate me for it because it wont be my fault.'

Floyd nodded. He understood exactly what Sam was saying. 'I'll keep that in mind.'

'You'll forgive me if I get confused?' Sam slipped onto one knee and hugged Floyd's legs.

Floyd looked down at the top of Sam's head and pressed two fingers from his left hand on that shiny black hair. 'Yeah, I'll forgive you, Sam. I will also have to stop you. You will forgive me if I have to kill you? Forgiveness really should go both ways. I don't want to kill you. You know that, but if you betray me I will. Get up off the floor and quit crying like a cowardly child. Iolanda has been around all this time… he's going to be in no hurry to rush things to a finish now. We have time. So how will you want it?' Floyd sighed at the snotty tear covered face that looked up to him. 'With me.' Floyd took a step away now that Sam had let go of his legs. 'There is something I want to show you.'

The thing he showed Sam was a contraption which was strapped to the arm and then hooked around the fingers. On the upper side of it was a fiddly looking thing… a very small cross bow. 'It's a thing I had crafted many years ago. It works well though. I'll be wearing it. I can't take fire arms with me, but I can take this baby. It doesn't fire bolts as such. To kill with something fired from this requires skill and something a little extra. It fires needles… needles covered in poison.'

Sam slipped the thing over his arm and inspected the firing mechanism. 'It doesn't look like it would work.'

'It works. And I can prove it to you. And I _will_ prove it to you. If you take one wrong step out there; one step which makes me think you're lying to me or betraying me or Spencer then you will get one of these in you and you will be able to lay there screaming in agony as the poison works its way slowly through you… you'll be able to scream out to me that it works and you will beg for my mercy… you will beg for me to slit your dirty throat open and finish you off quickly. Now take that off your arm, go to your room and consider your loyalties.'

'I _said_ that I don't want to go to him!'

'Good. Now go and contemplate it in your room. Think how you will block the command if he uses it. Think what you will do, because I can't protect all three of you if one of you is going to play rogue.'

'You'd kill me?'

'You doubt that? You really are not thinking straight. Of course I would. Do I suffer in hell when you die? No, you suffer in hell. You get your brain pulled apart. You get roasted over hot coals. You have the agony and the pain, not me. Why would it bother me? It is _you_ that it should bother. Go away. I'm tired of looking at your wet swollen face.'

The rest of the day the three of them kept apart. Spencer seemed unconscious… Sam went and checked up on him. He peeled back Spencer's eyelids and spat in the dull looking eyes but there was nothing there. He wanted to confide in Spencer as he had done Rossi. He wanted to make sure that they were all reading from the same script. Sam's script. But there was nothing. Even pinching him and grabbing him hard between the legs didn't even get a flicker from him. Spencer was sticky and dirty. Sam had to wash his hands afterwards.

Floyd spent his day getting things ready. Recharging what needed charging… filling what needed to be filled, looking at maps, saying words over bottles of water and small jars of special oils. He threatened to run the new gardener over with the lawnmower and then tackled him in the long grass… slapping at the poor boy's buttocks and rolling around with him like he was a long lost friend and not a complete stranger. That was the end of that job for the boy. At age fifteen that had been a little bit too creepy for him. He'd rather go without the new sneakers he was saving for than risk coming across the mad man in the grass again. John the school boy who mowed lawns for extra cash, went home, locked his bedroom door and experimented with various things until it was time for supper. He was on drugs before the year was out and was a teen suicide on his seventeenth birthday… and all because Sam got his number as a reliable kid to mow the lawn for them… all because he arrived on the wrong day and got groped by Flanders, who honestly, if you asked him… couldn't remember doing it and would have found it outstandingly funny if he had.

Oddly enough that night they all slept separately. Spencer woke up at one point with a burning in his brain like he'd been attacked by fire ants inside of his skull. Floyd gave him something to ease it… Spencer fell back to sleep again. Sam slept in his own room until the early hours of the morning when he woke up in a cold sweat with the feeling of someone choking him with a metal chain or collar. He went to see if Floyd could comfort him and found Spencer alone. He was still there snuggled up under the covers when Spencer woke as the birds began to sing. At first Spencer thought it was Floyd curled up behind him. He pressed back into the shape Floyd was making behind him and felt content and happy for a very short while until he rolled over and found that he was looking into Sam's eyes and not Floyd's. Though that contentment had faded it was replaced by something else… a need to hold and protect and so that's what Spencer did. He encouraged Sam to roll over and he gave him comfort in the way Floyd had given Spencer comfort so many times. It didn't even really feel all that sexual, it was just a fuck… that's all it was. Though if asked and if given time to consider what he'd done, Spencer would have said that he did it to show Sam that he was there for him. There was nothing to fear. Spencer would protect and look after him. Spencer would watch Sam's back. As Sam later lay sprawled on his front, Spencer ran his fingers over the light scars criss crossing Sam's back. They were obvious marks from a whipping he'd taken, probably more than once and Spencer didn't think it was from Floyd. He'd not stand back and watch Sam being attacked by someone again. This really got Spencer's protective juices flowing. He kissed Sam on the shoulder blade then got up to start the day. Today they were going to start their trip to Maine. It wasn't going to be a happy journey. Spencer couldn't remember ever having a happy journey with Floyd unless he was clinging hold of him as he sat on the back of the bike. That was like making love… it was glorious.

Floyd spent the night on the couch. He had a very invasive dream… which meant he must have fallen asleep at some point. He dreamed of Anthony. He saw Anthony's dead face laying there amongst the leaves. He watched himself push the man into the shallow ditch and then pull him over so he was on his back. He watched himself climb into the ditch and gently close those bright green eyes. He watched himself touch that man with the slightly open mouth which had screamed and begged and tried to get away, but failed. And Floyd felt, in his dream a swelling hatred of the person touching his man. He didn't want to watch because that was _his_ Anthony… and he'd been there and he knew what was going to happen. He watched this other self masturbate over the corpse. He watched him self wipe stuff over that slightly open mouth and then he stood back and watched him climb out of the ditch and look around for things to cover the body. The way he was standing now, looking down at that face with the blue lips and the one eye which was slightly open again… was that a breath? Did that chest just move? Did a finger twitch… it was just a dream… just a dream. He couldn't be alive because Floyd knew that he'd taken the heart? Hadn't he? He thought he had, but it all happened so long ago and he'd told this story so many times that now it was foggy and messed up. He couldn't remember if he'd taken the heart or not and in his dream Anthony was still whole…

Floyd jerked and made a soft alarmed noise in his dream as the eye blinked and earth was thrown over that face. He could see dirt going in the mouth and covering that eye which had definitely moved. There were small stones tumbling down and rocks being hurled. He tried to call out that he had to stop! He had to! Anthony wasn't dead! He was burying him alive! He wasn't dead! He could save him…

He woke up with a tightness in his chest and a sore eye where he'd been scraping dirt out of it in his dream. It had been a dream. In reality he knew that Anthony had been dead. Floyd had strangled him and when Anthony had started to struggle and make a fuss, Floyd had snapped his neck. He couldn't have blinked. He hadn't buried him alive.

He wasn't in a good mood when Spencer came down stairs with his bags packed and ready and though Spencer looked alarmingly lovely in combat pants and walking boots with an old and very faded Star Wars Tshirt he didn't feel much like offering out compliments. He didn't even feel like complaining that he knew Spencer had screwed Sam again… AGAIN! Would this shit never end?... not that he minded, except for when he did and then he minded a whole damned lot.

'You look like you're going on a school field trip.' Floyd told Spencer. 'Where's your clip board and pencil?'

Spencer twitched an eyebrow at Floyd. He looked wrong somehow… something looked different. 'Are you all right? You don't look well.'

'Bad dream.' Floyd told Spencer. 'I fell asleep for some reason and my dreams are never good ones. I dream of shit and pain, not of watching you fuck Sam in my bed… but then that wasn't a dream was it? Nothing to say? No excuse?' Floyd called as Spencer left the room and made for the kitchen. This was starting out wonderfully… and he wasn't going to take the blame even if he thought he should.

o-o-o

Rossi thought that the trip was going to be loud. He thought that the three passengers were going to squabble the whole time. He was wrong. Spencer who seemed lethargic almost to the point of not really knowing what was going on, sat in the back with Sam. Floyd took shotgun next to Rossi. Sam seemed subdued too. He spoke little and slumped in the backseat behind Rossi with what looked to be the beginning of tears in his eyes. He didn't look Rossi in the eyes and he didn't talk to Spencer or Floyd. It was odd and very uncomfortable. Floyd sat with one hand gripping the edge of his seat and the other pressed against the car door as though to hold him in place and stop him self from jumping out at the first chance he got. Rossi turned on some music. Floyd turned it off again. Floyd smoked and cranked open his window. There were no complaints from the back seat. There was nothing but a horrible silence. The atmosphere he'd felt in the house, that one which made him think that they were going to explode into violence at any second had been replaced with something which felt more like resignation. It bothered Rossi.

They stopped off at gas stations, for gas and for rest stops… to stretch the legs and to get refreshments. There was still very little communication between the three of them and when Dave attempted to start up a conversation he got negative hand gestures from Floyd, tears from Sam and a lost pathetic look from Reid. He asked Floyd if Reid was drugged. Floyd waved a dismissive hand at Rossi and said it was probably another of Spencer's brain numbing headaches. He advised Dave to bother Spencer. Dave asked what was wrong with Sam… why did he look so depressed? Floyd gave another dismissive gesture and said that Sam was terrified out of his mind and not to bother him about it.

The first night they stayed at quite nice motel. Spencer and Floyd took a room together and Rossi took one on his own. Sam seemed to have been forgotten by his friends and didn't seem to be complaining about it either. As they took their things into their rooms Sam sat on a small wall and looked up at the darkening sky. He was still sitting there five hours later when Rossi came out to have a smoke. He went and sat down next to Sam.

'What are you doing out here on your own?' Dave asked him.

Sam gave his a quick sideways glance and pulled some smokes out of his pocket. He lit up and pulled in a deep breath. 'I was looking at the sky.' He pointed upwards. 'I love the night sky and it's really clear out here.'

Dave smiled and looked up too. It was a familiar sky. Nothing wonderful about it in his mind. 'Looking for shooting stars?' He asked.

'They aren't stars. If a star got that close we would all die. They are just space dust. Nothing really romantic about it at all. I find them really sad actually. It's like, I dunno… like a fly caught on one of those machines places have; those zap machine things. The planet lures in those tiny things and then they inevitably die a bright burning death. Isn't sad? Poetic but sad. Lives have been lost because of them. The old beliefs were very on the mark in some places but so way out in others. There'll never be a balance. People are too ignorant. They are too piled up and full of crap to be able to see.' Sam took another deep draw on the cigarette. 'I don't want to burn up and die like that. Beautiful for just a short while. It's not fair, Dave. That's not what I wanted. I wanted an eternity to live and love and be loved. I don't want to die.'

Again there were tears. Dave could see them in the light of the dull light of the moon. 'Who said you're going to die?' He put a kind and gentle hand on Sam's arm.

'Everyone dies eventually. I just don't want it to be by the hands of that Franks or Iolanda or whatever you want to call him. He hates me. He hates me with a passion. He hates me more than he hates Floyd. He's not too keen on Spencer either. I want to go home. I don't want to be doing this, but Floyd… he'll insist. He'll not back off and let it go.' Sam paused. 'We are all in deep, deep danger.'

Well Sam was as paranoid and delusional as Floyd, which wasn't much of a shock to Rossi. 'Why are you out here on your own?'

Sam snorted a bit of a laugh. 'Because Floyd told me I wasn't welcome in their room and I don't have money to get my own and I don't want to be in a room on my own. I might sleep and I wont be alert. I'd rather be out here alone and awake and listening for creeping footsteps.'

Rossi thought of asking Sam if he wanted to come into his room and rest, but he didn't. He left Sam where he was and walked back to his room. The fear Sam was feeling had felt genuine to Dave. It hadn't felt false. It didn't feel that Sam was after sympathy… it felt like real fear and that troubled Dave. If Sam was a afraid then maybe there was something in this weirdness after all. Maybe the light attitude he'd taken over this was misplaced. Dave checked his gun. He checked that his door was locked and went back to sleep. He had dreams of taking his dogs out to hunt, only it wasn't birds he was shooting at it was Spencer and Floyd. He woke up to the alarm on his phone not feeling as though he'd had much rest.


	56. Chapter 56

56

The following few days showed Rossi that this sullen odd silence was for Sam out of fear, for Spencer because it seemed he was hardly ever awake and when he was Floyd took control of him and hushed him quickly if he started to talk… For Floyd the silence was more as though he was afraid if he talked too much that whatever it was building up inside of him would explode too soon.

This journey for Floyd was foreplay… and probably not unlike how he played it in the bedroom either. He was in control. He let _his boys_ know that he was in control. May the gods help anyone who disagreed with him. Sam also slept a lot. The only time in the car that Sam seemed really alert was when Floyd took over the driving for a while. Sam let out a long and dreadful sounding scream as they lurched and squealed around corners until Rossi gently said that he was fully awake now and in no fear of falling asleep… probably for a very long time. He thanked Floyd and took over driving again.

Never again would Rossi happily sit next to Floyd if Floyd was the driver. EVER!

Lack of respect… had that been the reason Floyd said he drove like that? Is that why he treated everyone around him like a second hand possession? Was that why he didn't care about anything? Rossi also wondered if that was why Floyd insisted in putting things in his own name… rent, purchases… things he could feel were his. Was it a show of power or just a way for Floyd to control his own inadequate feelings and Rossi was very sure that Floyd was over flowing with inadequacies. He was a scrawny man… he was much stronger than he appeared. Floyd seemed to need to make up for the lack of body weight by using foul language and by letting Rossi know exactly what he did to Spencer.

'I thought you'd be interested.' Floyd told Rossi on about the forth day as Spencer and Sam slumbered in the back seat.

'Interested?' Rossi asked. 'In what?'

'In the way Spencer wiggles when I screw him. He loves it. I know!' Floyd held up his hands as though in defeat. 'I'm aware that _the team_ don't like what goes on, but it's natural. Nothing illegal.'

Rossi didn't take his eyes off the road, but did glance quickly in the rear view mirror at Spencer. 'You're orientation and preferences are nothing to do with me. They don't interest me.'

Floyd tapped Rossi on the knee. 'I didn't rape him. He wanted what I gave him. I didn't coerce him.'

Rossi moved Floyd's hand away. 'Why are you trying to convince me?'

'Bad air. Bad water… Bad… it's so bad. The very air we breathe is shared by all. We all breathe in the same stuff. We all drink from the same water. We are all eating from the same source. I wanted to clear the air. Let you know that my boys are with me because they want to be. Not because I've threatened to harm them if they're not with me.' Floyd put his hand back down the side of the seat and clung on tight again. 'I hate other drivers, Dave. I'd rather drive myself, but people have a tendency to scream when I do. I don't feel safe when people drive. I do so like to be in complete control of things.'

Dave glanced back at their sleeping companions. He took a longer look at Sam. 'Sam is terrified. He talked to me the first night. He's not with you because he wants to be… He's with you because he thinks you're a better option to being with Franks. It's like saying you'd rather have a brain tumour than lung cancer. I don't really see that either are a good deal.'

'I love it when you crack a joke. I'm not sure with of those I am, but I'll take the tumour if that's OK with you. Sam is half out of his mind with fear. You know Franks? You saw what he collects. If that's just his collection which he'd shown you, imagine what else he has squirreled away for a rainy day. The fuck wears skin suits. He's an animal. He's worse than me. He's not like me though, he's more like Sam, which I suppose is why there's the clash of personalities between the three of us. Iolanda doesn't like that Sam is mine. He wanted to keep him. He asked _Them_ if he could keep Sam and offer me up another kid… Then he asked for Spencer and offered up another kid. Some of his requests were made and some ignored. It's the ones which were accepted that we have to be careful about. I'd not hand Spencer or Sam over to that bastard. Never. I'd see them dead before I'd see them taken by him. I have a couple of pills.'

'Wait.' Rossi needed time to think. 'Have you just threatened to kill Reid and Trent?'

The shift in names wasn't missed by Floyd. 'Aye… but nay… a bit of each. I will give them the option of killing themselves. Poison.'

Rossi said nothing. The information needed to be assimilated and sorted into the right little boxes… this was going to end I a bloodbath if Rossi didn't do and say the right things. He now wondered what sort of danger he'd put himself in. He'd thought that this was going to be a wild goose chase but it seemed that the reality for Floyd and for Sam (not so sure about Spencer as he'd not got to talk to him about it yet) was all very real.

o-o-o

They pulled up outside the big metal gate of a big field full of grass at around mid morning. No one moved except to turn a head to look. Floyd let out a hiss of despair from between his teeth and then Spencer put a hand up and rested his palm on the window. Sam stuffed his hands down between his legs and moaned slightly… it was like the moan of something wicked coming their way.

'I'll make sure it's the right place. Stay here.' Floyd mumbled as he got out of the black SUV. He could see Spencer's hand still pressed against the dark glass and Floyd placed his over it. This gesture meant nothing to Rossi. It meant nothing to Sam… but it made Spencer's skin crawl, almost in a good way. It reminded both men of the first time they had real close contact, though that time Floyd had just been standing back watching. He'd seen Spencer place his hand against the window. He pulled his hand away and walked to the gate which he climbed over and then the people still in the car lost sight of him… the hedgerows filled their vision. Spencer made to get out of the car, but Sam grabbed at his arm.

'Wait.' Sam hissed. 'Let Floyd test the place first.'

Rossi turned in his seat to look at his remaining passengers. 'Test it how?'

Both Spencer and Sam raised their hands. Spencer waved his in front of his eyes and Sam placed his hand on his forehead. The same way Spencer's skin had crawled earlier, now Dave's was, but Dave's wasn't crawling in a good way… this was decidedly wrong. His passengers mad.

'Reid…' Rossi was going to ask what he meant. He was going to ask what Floyd was doing. He was going to ask… but he didn't. He didn't know exactly what to ask. 'His eyes?' Was the only thing he could think of.

'And his mind.' Sam replied. 'And before you ask, nothing is getting me out there. Nothing! Not a fucking thing so don't ask. Spencer can feel it. I can certainly feel it and Floyd can too or he'd not have gotten out and gone looking.' Sam went quiet again and looked down at his lap.

Spencer glanced at Sam and then at Rossi. 'You thought this was some kind of joke, didn't you?' There was no amusement in Spencer's voice and there wasn't even a ghost of a smile on his face. 'It's not a joke.'

'Yeah… I hope you have iron underpants on, Dave. You're gonna need them.' Sam muttered without looking up.

For Floyd everything had changed and yet nothing had changed. The line of trees in the distance had always been there, but they were likely different trees… the grandchildren of the ones he'd looked at out of his rear window. He could see the hole in the ground where they'd dug out his basement looking or any other bones. They'd not found any. They wouldn't have. The other bones weren't in the basement. He hunkered down with his back to the hedge which divided the road from the field. There were no animals in it today. The grass had been allowed to grow long and his whipped back and forth in the wind. A pathway meandered from that hole in the ground (formerly known as Floyd's country cottage) and went up towards the hill. Floyd knew that if he followed it he'd cross that small rise in the ground and drop down the other side to a small stony river. He'd spent a lot of time at that river, if not cleaning skins and preparing things, then just sitting looking down at the water. There had been fish there once. He doubted there were any now. He wasn't even sure that the river was still there… that pathway was though. Maybe you could only see it if you knew it was there, but Floyd saw it like a scar, like a parting in hair… and once you had seen it, it was one of those things you couldn't unsee. It was like that feeling he had crawling over his skin… those voices whispering in his ears and once those voices had been comforting and they had then gone silent… now they were neither. He ran the tall grass through his fingers and watched the sap leek out onto his skin. He slowly licked it off and then spoke over the grass.

'I will rest you again. I will stop this happening in the future. Go back and stay where I left you. I'll come later and sooth you.'

_Comfort me?_

_ Love me?_

_ Show me a puppy?_

_ Get me that gold you owe me?_

_ Help you chop wood mister…._

_ I'm lost._

_ Hold me… it's dark… so dark!_

_ Where did you go?_

_ Why did you leave?_

He didn't want to hear more. Floyd stood, put his back to the hole in the ground and walked back to the SUV

Spencer touched Floyd gently on the shoulder. Rossi saw that touch. It wasn't the touch of a man who was afraid of Floyd. It was the touch of a lover. Sam remained silent, still looking down.

''Tis the right place. I can hear them. We can either clear it today or come back tomorrow.'

'This place can't be anything like it was when you were last here.'

Floyd gave a curt nod. 'Some things never change. The general lay of the land. You know? There are aerial photographs of fields which can pick out ancient settlements. They remain as ghosts on the ground. They're still there. I don't have to be able to see what was there when I was last here. I know it's the right place. I can feel them out there. I heard them.'

Sam let out a groan. 'Was the bitch there?'

'If you mean Iolanda, then I don't think so. It was the voices of the lost… they've been disturbed in a way which will be fine. We don't have to dig them up… just oil and water the ground. I'll be able to find them. It's like something taking me by the hand and leading me there. Now I'm this close it's almost a compulsion. I'm going to have to go and sort this. I can't not.'

Rossi sat so he could see Floyd properly. 'I need evidence. I need to know that this isn't a game. I want you to show me where these bones are and I want to dig them up. We can replace them. I don't want to take them. I _do_ need proof.'

'Is not my word proof enough?' Floyd looked genuinely surprised.

'No. You are a compulsive liar, Flanders. It's well documented. You don't know the truth from the fabrications you create in your twisted mind. I need to see the bones.'

Again Sam let out a sound of distress. The hand which had been on Floyd's shoulder, now moved to Sam's 'It's OK.' Spencer whispered. 'We'll keep you safe.'

'I can likely do the bulk of his alone – except Dave wants his proof. I'll dig up one if that's all right with you. I'm hoping I'm not going to have to prove every burial. We'll be here a month of Sundays if that's the case. You boys can wait in the car. Keep the doors locked. Snuggle up and use your collective energies to stay safe. I think it's better that way.'

Spencer dry swallowed and nodded. Sam let out a moan but didn't complain.

'You ready then Dave? Got your bucket and spade?'

o-o-o

He stood at the top of the rise and watched the fool, Flanders. He watched him crouch down in the grass and look over the field. 'Go on little ones, talk to the arsehole.' Iolanda whispered at the trees. 'Lure him in… distract him. I'm going to hurt that son of a bitch where it hurts most.'


	57. Chapter 57

57

They left Spencer and Sam secure in the SUV. Floyd didn't _want_ to leave them there, but thought it was maybe better than dragging them out into the field. They seemed to be almost bonding recently. It would give the boys a chance to sit and talk and… and Floyd wanted time alone with Dave. He sort of liked the man, though he knew that Dave believed little of what he'd told him.

'You don't have a very high opinion of me.' Floyd told Rossi.

'You've given me no reason to have one.' Dave replied.

It was fair enough. This was going to prove things though. Dave would see Floyd as a different person after this. He'd not longer be the liar – OK maybe that was going a bit too far – but maybe Dave would see that there was more going on than he wanted to see. Floyd hunkered down in the same spot he hand done before, only this time he had a spade in his hands, the point stuck into the grass in front of him. He asked Dave where he wanted to start. Dave told Floyd that he wanted to know where he'd buried someone.

'All over the fucking place!' Floyd snapped back at him. 'Can you feel it?'

Dave could feel nothing but he hunkered down next to Floyd. 'Explain to me. Tell me what you can feel.' He was expecting madness… some kind of insanity.

Floyd looked up at the sky and then up at the trees in the distance. 'It's a cemetery.' Floyd explained. 'It's not a dumping ground. I've not disposed of bodies to hide them. I never tried to hide anything, but no one was here to ask questions. Birds don't fly over here. Insects don't snicker in the grass. I'd bet that the animals that graze here get sick a lot. It's not a bad place, Dave, but it's sacred. I can feel the unrest. It's much like standing on a battle field… the screaming dying fools laying at your feet. The body parts scattered… nothing whole. Nothing which can live. Just a bloody smear on the landscape.' He paused and licked his lips. 'It's a strange feeling of wonderment and distaste. This place was at peace. It should have stayed that way. The land was mine. It would have stayed at peace if it hadn't been illegally purchased from me. So where, Dave. Name your spot.'

Dave shook his head. 'I thought you were going to show me where you had put the bodies.'

'Laid them to rest.' Floyd corrected. 'From here I can pick out five. There are many more. I'll show you where they are. I'll point them out. You choose one. I'll not be called a liar, Dave and I'll not choose one over another. They are all equally lovely.'

Rossi stood and touched Floyd's shoulder. 'Very well. Point them out and I'll choose one.'

Floyd smiled and started to walk forwards. There were still voices in this head. Pleading begging voices, but now Floyd was able to push them back at bit. It damaged his concentration though. He was having to put everything into stopping those voices and locating the graves. He stopped walking and with a foot swept some grass out of the way. 'Laurence. I don't know his last name. Age around twenty. He was…' Floyd thumbed behind him. '… by horse. The day was dark and the rain started. I called him to my home. Offered him somewhere to rest up for the night. He said that his father was a merchant. He was off to visit someone, but he'd lost his way.' A small shrug. 'Brown hair, pulled back with a ribbon. Mid brown eyes. Taller than me.'

'What happened to him?' Dave asked.

'I killed him. It was late summer. The leaves were already turning. I needed to stock up. I needed food. So I gave him pottage and a fire to sit at. He seemed grateful enough. I hit him around the head with an iron bar. Cracked his skull open. He kept me fed for a month or so. I released the horse still with the tack. Couldn't afford to be caught with a missing man's horse. Do you have any idea what they do to horse thieves? And I didn't need the animal. So this is the grave of Laurence. All of the bones are there, some I roasted. A few I boiled. The marrow is delicious. The skull will have a damaged area.' Floyd looked at Rossi. 'I made a stew with his brain, heat and liver. I braised his kidneys with herbs… smoked the rest. The skin… the skin I didn't use. Remember the spot.' Floyd dug his heel into the ground to mark it and then pointed just over to the left. Two short steps and he was digging his heel into the grass again. 'Perry.' Floyd muttered. 'Blond hair, curly… blue eyes. A short kid. He was out fishing on the river. This place is sort of squashed between two… there over that rise, on the other side is a small river. Good for water and washing and cooking with. The source is clear, but back over that way, a mile or so is a bigger river… boats came up it often. Merchants usually, selling to the people who had made their homes out this way. He was just a… he was young. I didn't kill him. He was dying when I found him. He'd been with his father who had riled someone. They'd both been attacked and put ashore. The father I kicked back into the river. He was old… diseased. The kid I dragged home with me… He'd told me his name. He'd told me what had happened. He had a head injury though. He was all ready dead by the time I got him home. Not that I would have nursed him. The body is in tact. I ate what I could but didn't dismember him. Poor fuck. I ate his eyes. There was something about them. I thought in my delirium that I would see what he'd seen if I did. It didn't work. I just puked for a few days. Then I dug him a hole and put him near Laurence. I cut off some of his hair and stuffed my pillow. I abused the corpse, but you'll not see that by the remains.' Floyd stood and looked around again. 'You OK with this Dave? You've gone a funny colour.'

Dave felt as though he'd turned green and not with envy either. This man he was standing with couldn't have done these deeds when he said he had, and probably didn't do them at all. It was just his fantasy, but what sort of man has fantasies like that? 'Do you remember the details for all of them? How many men did you bury out here?'

Floyd gazed around the field and sighed. 'Around fifty… exact number? Fifty three.'

'You killed them as you would slaughter an animal for food.'

'I did.' Floyd confirmed.

'Then buried them out here?'

'Aye.'

'That shows me that you felt remorse for what you'd done.' Rossi said.

'No, it shows you that I knew that if I laid the remains at my front door step someone might question them. I'm not a fool. I'm often stupid, but I'm no fool. I know what people would have thought of me. I all ready had a reputation in the town as being weird. They would have wanted to accuse me of witchery, but there was nothing to connect me to the stupidity that went on. Yes people went missing. It was a rough time. Accidents happened. People died. Disease was prevalent. Many of the settlers died in attacks by there own and by the natives. They died of starvation in the winter… the died of poisons, the pox… yup… the pox got a load. Disappearances were not too uncommon, but the townies – the dirty filthy swarms who gathered around those vile wooden hovels built of shit and lies… they didn't like me. They would have refused to trade with me if they'd had the balls to. They didn't. That didn't stop rumours. Lies… as it happened. They thought I was cursing their crops. It never occurred to them that I was eating their neighbours.' Floyd moved off again. A bit further this time. 'Harry Shugs. A brute. He came out here to deliver a message. It was a message he wished to deliver with his fists. I raped him and strangled him with his own belt. The remains are dismembered. Some bones I cooked. No skull here. I used it for a while as a door stop. I filled it with… I filled it with small stones. It was a joke on my part. I eventually just tossed it away.' Again Floyd marked the ground with the heel of his boot. 'George Manning. He was another I took from the river. He was rowing back to see his goodwife who he'd left alone for a couple of months. I told him that she was already dead. Her and the two nippers. All dead. Disease caught them. I then caught Manning and had him over the course of the next few weeks. I'm not delivering up these bodies in the order I took them. Just thought you should know.' Floyd then turned and looked over the field towards where the car was parked. He couldn't see it from here. The hedge was high, thick and such a bright green that Floyd had to shield his eyes. 'Do you have the keys to that car?' Floyd asked.

'Yes.' Rossi put his hand in his pocket to confirm that.

'OK. Well do you want to start digging or do you want more bodies?' Floyd turned away from the hedge again. Something was wrong and if those damned voices would leave his head he might be able to think… think! But he pulled his mind away from the car again and turned a circle in the field. 'Riley.' Floyd pointed. 'A local… sort of local. As local as you can get when your nearest neighbour is ten miles away. 'Poor child. She lived with her mother, father and brother.' Floyd scratched at his neck and looked back at the hedge again before walking away from Rossi, talking as he went. 'Father had been to the town for goods. He came home feeling unwell. Was dead within the week. The smallpox. The mother followed a day or so later and the brother who was still in clouts… well sad to say that poor little girl Riley was poorly herself with the pox. The little kid died. Probably lack of food or something. The girl survived but the scaring was terrible. She had to dispose of the bodies on her own. Twelve years old and out there alone… horrific. Anyway… I came upon her in the woods and she told me what had happened. She was skeletal. No meat on her bones at all, but bones are good for boiling…' Rossi put a hand on Floyd's shoulder.

'Enough with the stories.'

'You want to know the reasons and the conditions of the bones we'll uncover?'

Rossi nodded slowly. 'I just don't want to hear these horrors.'

'Well these horrors are my life, Agent Rossi. Get used to it. As I was saying… My pantry was full. I didn't need this ugly wretch in there. Her skin was ruined. I dare not eat the child's brains… she was diseased and dying anyway and couldn't afford to feed her up. A waste don't you see? Feed someone just so you can kill them and eat them? Where's the point in that? So I smothered her… with my hands. She struggled… buried her unmarked – whole… clothed. I even had it in mind to return her to her own place and bury her with her family, but there was only horrible memories for her there. I thought it better she stayed with me. At least I cared. So she's here.' Again he marked the ground.

Dave stood looking at the small indent Floyd had made. He hoped beyond all hope that he'd dig and find nothing. The idea that Floyd was telling the truth here was beyond Rossi's understanding. He couldn't have done it… at least not when he said he had… and did Reid know about this? Was Reid even bothered by it? Rossi turned and looked at the different places Floyd had shown him. 'Take me again to where you buried the boy you found at the river.' Would Floyd be able to find it again? He doubted it. The field was huge… stretched out almost as far as you could see in each direction. The grass had popped back up again and the tracks they had made were already fading, but somehow Floyd walked straight back to it. The dent Floyd had made in the ground was still there.

'Perry.' Floyd spoke almost kindly. 'I need to disturb you. I will cover you and rest you again.' He stabbed his spade into the ground and smiled at Rossi. 'Do you sense something strange?'

'Strange? You mean stranger than this situation?'

'I mean dangerous… a foreboding of sorts. I hear voices.'

Oh wonderful! The man had lost the plot completely now. 'You need to be on medication.' Rossi told him.

'For why? The voices? But they're real. Medication wont stop them. It's like… its…' Floyd shrugged. '…anyway, they are calling to me for help… but they sound wrong. They feel wrong. Shall we dig and get this over with?'

As they dug, Spencer and Sam sat nervously in the back of the SUV. Sam had a nail file and was sorting out his nails. Spencer was twisting his hands on his lap. They'd been gone nearly an hour. Sam was hungry. Sam was thirsty and now Sam wanted a pee. He wanted to pick berries. He wanted to look at the wildlife and do something other than just sit! The car had been locked but Sam said he could still get out if he wanted to.

'Best we just wait.' Spencer told Sam. 'Floyd knows what he's doing.'

'You think?' Sam carried on filing his nails for a while. 'You know… just to stretch my legs and get some fresh air.' And Sam moved a hand over the locking mechanism on the door and the buttons all popped up. It didn't surprise Spencer that Sam could do this… he had learnt a lot from Floyd without realising that he'd been learning. 'I'll be five minutes.' Sam told Spencer.

'I don't think it's a wise idea, Sam. I want to protect you but can't if you're running off picking berries.'

'Well I'll let you off this once. Look there's no one here but us. What the hell can happen? And I need a shit too… and yeah I can piss out the window or into a bottle, but have you ever tried to shit into a bottle or out a window?'

Spencer smiled slightly. 'I'd rather not have that image. Go… hurry up and stay in sight.'

Sam gave Spencer a small nod and then leaned in and kissed Spencer on the cheek. 'I wont be long and I'll stay in sight. Promise.'

Though Sam's promises didn't have the weight that Floyd's did, it was still comforting to hear him say it. Sam slipped out of the car door and clicked it shut carefully. He didn't want to alert Floyd that he'd gotten out of the car. He waved to Spencer through the window and the trotted down the middle of the small single lane road. There was a bend up a head a short way, but Sam stopped before he reached it. Spencer saw him pulling leaves off something and plucking berries off something else. He looked happy and relaxed. Spencer turned his head though when Sam pulled his shorts down and hunkered on the grass verge. Had Spencer carried on watching Sam he might have seen the look on Sam's face. He might have seen Sam waving his arms… and he might have seen Sam turn, holding up his knee length denim shorts and running. Spencer was looking at his lap though. He turned and glanced down at his shin when something made a crunching pop sound at the side of the car. He saw something sticking out of the fabric of his jeans and was reaching down to see what it was when the world went into a spin and Spencer crashed out, half on his seat and half on the floor behind the front passenger seat.

Sam saw them. He saw them suddenly appear out of the ditches and hedges on the other side of the road. He saw something glinting in the hand of one of them. Sam thought it was a gun.

A bang and a shout off to his left… something was happening in the field where Floyd and Rossi were… Sam did call out, he at least tried to. He opened his mouth and he waved his arms, but some of the people who had appeared were now moving towards the field and some were sliding into the car which he had left unlocked!

He could hear shouting, but couldn't make out what was being said. His own panic had settled into his stomach like a lump of lead. He pulled up his shorts, turned and legged it.

The SUV pulled silently away and down the road towards the slight bend Spencer had seen earlier. It was mid day. The sun at the highest. The shadows dappled the road and a few birds were singing now. There was a rich loamy smell of damp woodlands… a clear fresh smell of farms and maybe it was the lack of vehicle fumes too… Sam couldn't hear the car… he could hear his feet pounding on the road. He was fast, but fast enough to outrun a car? There was a ditch of course but in panic the ditch was forgotten and anyway, wasn't that where the dudes had come from in the first place. So he kept running and at the very last minute decided to throw himself out of the way.

Sam was just a fraction of a second too late. The SUV caught him as he swerved. He flew up and crashed against the hood and the windscreen and seemed to float there for a while before somehow falling forwards and to the side.

Spencer didn't feel the car hit Sam and he didn't hear the manic laughter from the driver. He didn't feel the tyres running over something in the road… but he did feel a tremendous sudden pain in his head. Had he been properly aware of what was going on, Spencer would have assumed that someone had just shot him in the head. That's what it felt like. His nose bled and his ears bled… he bled from somewhere deep inside and he made a small whimpering sound, but that's all.

Floyd was standing on the edge of the burial. They'd dug out most of the earth and Rossi stood looking down at the full length skeleton they'd revealed. It was about four foot down. The digging had been hard work and now Dave didn't know what to think. This couldn't have been wild guess work. Floyd knew this was here. Dave knelt on the edge looked down. It was hard to tell but this wasn't the body of a full grown adult. Though some teeth seemed to be missing, the ones there weren't worn down. Rotting maybe, but not worn.

'You seemed shocked.' Floyd mumbled. He knelt down too… his back to the line of trees, at the head of the burial. 'I told you what was here.'

'And until I saw it… Flanders…?' Rossi looked up at Floyd. 'The car!' Dave jumped to his feet. Floyd was about to stand too… he had his hand there on the grass ready to push up, but something hit the back of his head and came out of the front. It made a large hole right above his left eye. He went to call out to Rossi to keep down… to stay safe… to take care but nothing came out of Floyd's mouth except a spray of blood. He wanted to put a hand out and stop himself from falling, but he was going… he dropped forwards in a weird headfirst flop into the grave they'd just uncovered. He ended up on his knees with his head resting against the bones of the pelvis and then the world closed in, at least for a while.

Rossi ran. He legged it over the field unaware of what was going on with Floyd. He heard a bang, which could have come from a silenced high powered rifle. He wasn't sure… he was so very unsure of anything apart from that the car was moving away and it was going to leave rubber on the road at the speed it had suddenly taken off. He bounced over the gate, wishing he was twenty years younger and stood with his heart hammering in his chest and a stitch already building in his side. The car was gone.

'Damn them!' Rossi shouted… turned to look at the field… Floyd was also gone. Was this some game to spook him? It might work. By night time it might just work. He looked down the road again, now with a clearer and angrier head and saw something laying part in the long grass of the bank and partly in the ditch… It looked like trash had been thrown there but Rossi had a feeling it was something else. He walked forwards with his hand pressed to his side where the stitch was digging in and threatening to creep up into his arm pit. A sandal was laying in the road. Rossi picked it up and turned it over in his hand. A silver sandal with beads and glitter… the strap going across the front of the foot was broken. It was Sam's sandal. 'What the hell is going on?' Rossi broke into a slow lumbering trot to the thing laying half in and half out of the road and the ditch. 'Dear god. Sam?' He didn't have to touch Sam to know the worst. The face was staring up at him… Did Dave dare move him? It looked as though the car had run him down. His body was laying wrong. Either it was Sam's spine or his pelvis, but Dave didn't think it was going to matter what the injury was… there was blood in places there shouldn't be blood. It was bubbling out of Sam's mouth and crawling out of his nose… it was seeping out of Sam's ears and Sam's wayward eye was bloody and wet. The crotch of Sam's jeans was stained dark red.

Floyd felt someone jump down into the ditch with him. He felt that person turn him over and then look down at him. Floyd stared back. He was sure he was going to see Iolanda, but it wasn't. This was a very tall very beautiful young man. His lips were slightly blue and there was a scab of blood under his nose but that didn't stop Anthony from looking beautiful.

'You cunt.' He hissed at Floyd.

Floyd tried to say something back, but he was going through _rapid brain re-growth_ and all he managed to do was to piss himself and snap his teeth together.

'You said you'd love me forever.'

Oh but he had done!

'You said you'd never hurt me, but you beat the shit out of me then… Then you buried me alive. I felt the earth fall onto my face. I saw you watching me, but you were so full of yourself that you didn't see me trying to talk to you… I expect it's a bit like how you're trying to communicate with me, isn't it? How does it feel?'

It felt like shit… Really Floyd wasn't very happy with this situation. Where the fuck was Rossi when you needed him?

'Iolanda has Spencer.' Anthony smiled a broken tooth black smirk. 'I can't get my revenge from him, but I sure can from you.'

He climbed out of the grave and Floyd could see out of one good eye that Anthony was dragging something closer. Well if this didn't finally put out his light of lust for the dead then nothing would, and it seemed to be working so far. Floyd would – had he had any control over his limbs – have torn the fuck apart and fed him to the fishes. It's what he should have done all that long time ago. Something hit Floyd in the face and then bounced off.

'You wanted my bones? Well here you go. Have them. Do with them what you feel is right. From now forward you will remove me from your dirty damned thoughts. I never loved you. I was terrified of you. And for good reason.' Another bone was hurled at Floyd… then the box was tipped up over him. Die there squashed in the earth between poor Perry and me. Die as you killed us. You bastard. You're mother must have been the worst whore dog in the country. I hope you burn in hell, Floyd. Burn… feel your skin crackle. Feel your body boiling and your skin sweating blood. I would hang around and watch and laugh, but now I'm free… Thanks to Iolanda.'

Shaking hands pulled a cell phone out of his pocket. One bar…. Just one bar… but that was enough. Rossi sat on the roadside next to Sam and gently pushed bloody hair out of Sam's face. The boy was awake, but Dave didn't know how it was possible. Sam even seemed sort of aware of what was going on. Dave thought Sam tried to say something but all that came out was a bright red spray of blood. A look of alarm spread over Sam's face.

'You'll be fine. Don't try to move. I'll make a phone call. Get help here.' He pressed the phone to the side of his face and spoke to emergency services and with the other took hold of Sam's hand. He should be dead. He would be dead before anyone could get here to help and where the hell had Floyd gone? Where was Spencer? 'Can you squeeze my hand?' Rossi asked him… and Sam Squeezed it like he could squeeze the very life out of Rossi and pull it into him self. 'Was Reid in the car.' That tight squeeze again. 'Did he do this to you?' Nothing… nothing… 'Iolanda?' And then that squeeze.

Rossi liked to hunt with his dogs, but really he was a city man and he was a city man who was trying to figure out what was going on. He was attempting to make sense of it and was failing miserably. This made no sense at all. Floyd… wherever he'd gone couldn't have known about those bones unless he put them there. He couldn't have known the condition of them unless he'd seen them. How did someone get the car? Did Sam or Spencer open the car door for someone? And how the hell was Sam still breathing. It just wasn't possible. The red stain on Sam's crotch was spreading, his chest was heaving in and out and with each outward breath there was a fresh lot of blood. Dave wanted to move Sam… do something to make him more comfortable, but he feared a neck or back injury… Sam's legs seemed wrong too… one leg was bent in what seemed to be the wrong direction and the other was just a mush of blood. 'They will be here soon.' Rossi told Sam… and Sam actually smiled at that. A horrible red and bloody smile which came with a cough which sent more red into the air like bloody rain.

Sam would have warned Rossi if he could, but he seemed to be stuck. Something was very wrong… he couldn't move anything but his fingers. He tried to wiggle his toes but didn't think he'd managed it. He couldn't feel anything from his chest down. He assumed that he'd broken his neck or his back… but that didn't stop him seeing something glinting again. And yes he would have warned Dave, but all he could do was cough blood and try to squeeze his hand and Rossi's eyes suddenly looked surprised and he flopped onto the road.

Sam cried real tears as the trees above him started to slide away. He could feel the road scraping over his upper back and then everything turned into pain and dark. He was flying and falling and he landed on a hard metallic surface. There was just time to think that he was in the back of a van when his brain cut out for a while. He slipped into a deep dark pain filled sleep.

o-o-o

Spencer was dragged from the SUV which was then pushed into the undergrowth and set alight. They hog tied him and put him in the trunk of a car which travelled at a safe speed. Last thing they wanted was to be stopped and searched with a drugged ex-Fed in the trunk of their fine red car. Spencer knew very little of the journey. He knew that sometimes the road was rough and full of potholes and the guessed that they drove over a wooden bridge at one point, but Spencer couldn't tell if it was a railway bridge or one over a river. Not that it would have made all that much difference. He drifted in and out of consciousness wishing each time that he opened his eyes that he was still asleep or that he'd woken up and was actually dreaming this mess. It would be all right. Floyd would never let someone just take him. Floyd would come and find him. Floyd would come to the rescue.

His legs had gone numb when they pulled him from the car, untied him and told him to stand. He couldn't. It was impossible, but he tried anyway. He also tried to open his eyes just as a narrow slit because the sudden light was virtually blinding. He could see that he was now in what appeared to be a rough encampment or maybe a semi permanent home for travellers. There were caravans scattered around and some more robust trailers. There were dogs, dirty looking children, dogs… women and there was a smell of dirt and sweat. He seemed to remember a place like this before. It certainly wasn't the _same_ place but it was very like it. It was like the place Floyd had brought him to that time they had the bike smash. It was Iolanda's home. Did that mean that Sam was here too somewhere? He would have asked but they were dragging him across the ground now by his arms… and he could hear laughter – the laughter of children. This was going to be delightful. He could feel it in his bones.

From the sudden light he was now again in darkness. No one had stopped to explain anything to him. He had no idea why they wanted him and with a creaking whine of door hinges the light was mostly cut out again and he was laying on rough stony dirt. Spencer stayed where he was for a while. The feeling was coming back into his legs and with that came the accompanying pain. He gritted his teeth as his legs and back went into tight cramps and tried to block out the pain by looking around the small place he'd been locked into. It was a tiny room made up of corrugated iron. There were no windows and just the one door he'd been brought in by. It was not high enough to stand up in… maybe it was just over five foot high… and about seven foot square. It was a rough, rusty, very hot coffin which stank of urine and other types of human extract. A metal bowl, much like you'd give a dog, had been placed by the door. It had water, but for now Spencer lay on his back and tried to get his body to do what he asked it to without complaints. His throat hurt, his arms and shoulders ached… and now just to add to the discomfort his stomach started to rumble and his bladder began to feel a bit too full.

'Murg.' Spencer said as he licked his lips. This wasn't going to be good. This was going to be very bad. He had no idea how long it had been since he had been sitting in the car keeping a watch on Sam… great protector he'd turned out to be. He'd failed… Failed in a way that he didn't think Sam was ever going to forgive him. He just hoped that Sam was all right. At least he'd not been in the car when the proverbial shit had hit the fan.

Darkness came… the small slither of light under the door moved across the tiny metal cell and then faded all together. The day had been hot and miserable… he could hear voices and the crying of a young child. He heard dogs barking wildly and a car or van drove close by, but now he could smell food cooking over a fire, singing voices… happy sounds… drunken merriment and that wailing cry again… somehow familiar, but he couldn't or rather didn't want to, place it.

A loud banging on the door… Three raps. The sudden sound made Spencer jump and his muscles tightened ready to defend himself. 'Get back from the door Doctor.' A snarling almost dog like voice told him. There really wasn't anywhere to go, but Spencer moved back as far as he could. The door opened, but no bright light gushed in, just a faded moonlight. 'Food.' A soggy lump was placed on a bit of old newspaper. 'Eat. Drink the water… Die or don't die. I don't really care. I'd sooner you weren't here. With your type comes trouble. I'll not kill you myself, but I'll not help you live beyond feeding you and watering you.'

Spencer looked at the soggy muck on the paper and nodded. 'Is Sam here?' He asked him.

And the man grinned. 'For now.' And the door was slammed shut again.

The food wouldn't be eaten. He just wasn't at the stage where he could nibble on road kill… but he would drink the water and he'd find a way out of this thing. The building seemed light and old… there must be a weakness in it. He must be able to kick his way out. Then he could get Sam… It wasn't a brilliant idea, but as he sipped on the water it made things feel slightly better.

It was a very cold night. The wind howled along with the dogs… and that crying wail started up again and though Spencer knew it was Sam he refused to believe it. Floyd had been standing right there in the field! Rossi had been there! How could all of this have happened so quickly? Why wasn't Floyd here ripping out throats and killing everything? Spencer sent out a short message to Floyd. He didn't like to do this; it hurt for a start… and he never knew what sort of reply he'd get…

_Floyd where are you?_

A horrible white static was all he got back. The signal seemed to be open… the dial turned up… it just wasn't receiving anything. A loud distressed moan tore from Spencer so suddenly that he made him self jump.

o-o-o

Floyd felt the earth hit his face. He could taste it in his mouth. It covered over his open eyes and he thought of the dream he'd had and realised now that it wasn't a dream but a premonition. He twitched his fingers and wriggled his toes inside his boots but that was all he managed to do. Floyd didn't understand why Anthony was doing this. Why? He'd loved him! He'd given him his all. At least the _thought_ it might have been something like love. It was maybe more of a lustful need, but that still didn't explain what that beautiful man was doing to him! Where was Rossi? Why wasn't he stopping this insanity?

He drifted. Once the earth was covering him and he could feel the weight of it, pushing him harder down onto the remains for Perry, he drifted and took himself away for hibernation. That was all he could think of to do for now. When he was repaired… when his brain was back and working properly, then he'd dig his way out and kill… kill randomly… kill anything which came close.

'So you finally came back?' A miserable soft voice spoke from somewhere. It was Az… really all he needed right now. A complaining bitch.

'Fuck off.' Floyd muttered back.

'Word on the street has it that someone down you.' It sounded as though Az was mocking him. He'd better not be or Az would be the first one he'd kill.

'What street would that be?' Floyd lay on his back, but the feeling of the bones pressing into his ribs had gone and he cold smell incense.

'The one which wanders in here occasionally. I'm trapped here.' A jangle of chains.

'You want me to release you, bitch?' Floyd hissed.

'I want nothing from you.' Az replied. 'Except to see you in pain and to know that Spencer and Sam are in pain. That's all I want.'

Floyd tried to roll onto his side so he could look at Az, but he seemed to be stuck for now. 'Screw you.'

'Oh you wish.' A rattling of bottles now. 'Living here has been an education. There's no point in wanting to be released. You're too much of a spiteful spirit to do something like that. You're too afraid that I'll go and actually be content with what you've given me, but I _am_ content. At least now you are here I am.'

'Are you drunk?' Floyd asked him. 'Are you insane?'

'Both!' Az cried back. 'You are well stocked in all kinds of magical mixtures. One to take away my pain, one to remove the memories, one to heighten sexual pleasure and some to just let myself drift and dream. What more can someone like me want? I can't go home. I may as well stay here. Then again… do you want me here?'

'No.' Floyd mumbled. 'Stop using my shit. It's not for you.'

'Then you shouldn't have left me here with it.' Az touched Floyd's arm. 'Feeling rough are you? Feeling down in the dumps? Let me cheer you up the way you cheer up your boys. I'll comfort you.' The hand moved to Floyd's shoulder and he was pushed onto his side. 'You took me and turned me into a dirty whore. Surely you want to experience what you created.'

Floyd gritted his teeth. 'You know that as soon as I can I'm going to hurt you so bad.'

'I know. I realise that, but it will be worth every bit of the pain to do this to you. I assume you're not going to consent?'

'You assume rightly.' Floyd replied.

'Then we'll call this rape. I'm good with that. I'll just pass on what I've learnt. Some of it is a bit painful.'

'I'll fucking kill you! What the hell are you doing with your hands? Get the hell off me you damned pervert. What? What is _that_?'

Az snorted a laugh. 'Don't worry. It's not me. It's something someone left rammed up my back side one day. I really very much hope that it hurts you as much as it hurt me. I thought it was going to be rammed out of my stomach. Let's see if kicking it up there will be more successful than just using a hand?'

Being home was meant to be a chance to heal. It was meant to be a place of comfort and delight. This was neither. This was being impaled on something which felt horribly like a six inch square table leg.

o-o-o

Sam lay on a metal table. There were knives and saws and things which Sam didn't even want to think about hanging off the walls. The place stank of strong disinfectant. He wasn't strapped down. There wasn't any need for that because he couldn't move anyway. There was a needle in the back of his hand which lead to a bag of something hanging from a hook. There wasn't really all that much pain for now. He felt numb from the neck downwards. He had a headache, but he could deal with that. What he couldn't deal with was the way they were rubbing oils into his skin. He knew what this place was. He'd been in them before. He knew exactly what it was.

The skinning room.

Sam tried begging them to let him go, but they explained to him as though he was an idiot that his spine had snapped. He was damaged beyond repair. He had a bad bleed on the brain and his internal organs were damaged…

'You're dying.' He was told. 'But we can keep you alive long enough to prepare you. Apart from the few scars on your back, you have lovely skin.'

He cried.

He wailed.

He knew what this involved. They oiled the skin… made it as good as they could. And then they'd remove it. They didn't wait for you to be dead either. He'd seen it. He knew too well. He'd heard the screams. They cut you up alive. Even Floyd wasn't that much of a monster. At least not often.


	58. Chapter 58

58

Rossi was found by the emergency services twenty minutes later. In that time a small pale blue car had found him laying there. They also had called emergency services, but oddly their call was for someone who had maybe had a heart attack, whereas the original call had been for someone who looked like he'd been hit by a car. There was a large discrepancy with the guessed ages too which was odd. What was more peculiar was the amount of blood at the scene and the almost complete lack of injury on the victim. The accident or whatever the hell this was, was taped up and called a crime scene. Rossi was rushed to hospital as a Crime Scene Unit came to investigate. Rossi's car was found not long after they arrived, five miles down the road, burnt out. Questions were going to be asked here. A lot of questions and this time Rossi was the one answering them and not asking them. It was not a position he liked to be in. As it turned out his heart was fine. There seemed to be nothing wrong with him at all. There was a small raised welt on his arm and a tiny puncture wound, but tests came back and revealed nothing at all. Whatever had happened to Rossi, they were going to have to wait until he was coherent enough to answer them.

They'd found his ID… he was a Fed. They contacted those who needed to be and were told that whatever Rossi was doing up in Maine was not part of a case they were working. The team Rossi worked on had for now been disbanded and another team had taken on the pending cases. This meant that this wasn't Federal business. They could question the slightly woozy man… and so they did.

'Can you tell us what happened?'

Dave thought. He thought very hard and he got a pile of chaotic thoughts back. He shook his head.

'Can you tell us what you were doing in the area you were found? Your car was found five miles down the road, burnt out. Can you remember what happened to it?'

Now Rossi narrowed his eyes and spoke slowly. 'I was walking in a field with someone who was…' He stopped. He couldn't tell them that they were digging up bones could he? '… an historian of sorts. The car was parked… two people waited in the car. I remember running towards the road.'

'You were running from something? Something was after you?'

'No.' Dave rubbed a hand over his chin. 'No… I was running because the car was moving and I had the keys in my pocket. By the time I arrived the car was gone, but I found Sam laying at the side of the road. It looked as though he'd been run down.'

'Who is Sam?'

Dave sighed and shifted slightly in the hospital bed he was laying in. 'He was one of the people waiting in the car.'

'Who else was in the car Agent Rossi?'

Rossi frowned at this. 'Doctor Reid. An ex Federal Agent. We used to work together.'

'So who drove the car away and ran down this other person… who I may add seems to have got up and walked away.'

Dave shook his head now. 'He was dying. I could see that. He'd been crushed under the wheels of a vehicle and as my SUV had been the only car on the road…'

'You were alone Agent Rossi. There was a lot of blood which we are having tested, but I very much doubt you could have bled that much from a grazed elbow.' The officer in charge here didn't sound convinced. 'And what happened to the other person you were with. You said you were walking in the field with someone. Who was it? Where is he now? Why didn't he run to help?'

Dave couldn't answer all of those questions and the ones he _could_ answer, he didn't want to. 'The man is known as Flanders. I have no idea where he is now. I do know that Sam couldn't have walked away… as I said, the boy was dying. He was bleeding from everywhere. His face was covered in blood. He was coughing blood… He couldn't have walked away.'

'Yet he wasn't there.'

'I can't answer that. It seems I passed out. I've seen dead bodies before Officer. I've seen a lot of disturbing things in my past, with my job and I am telling you that blood wouldn't make me pass out.'

'Even if you knew that your friend was dying and had been mown down by an ex Agent?'

'Don't you put words into my mouth. I never said that was what had happened!' Rossi hissed between his teeth.

'But you said that there was no one else there. Who else could have driven the car? You have keys in your pocket. Did you leave a set in the car?'

Rossi said nothing.

'Would Doctor Reid know how to jump start a car?'

Rossi still said nothing.

'Was there any animosity between this Sam and the Doctor?'

'I don't think I have to answer your questions. I'm not under oath and I'm not a criminal. If this continues I will have to ask to have a lawyer with me. Until then… until you figure out what happened I think I shall go back to sleep.' He slid further under the covers to demonstrate this and turned away from the cops.

'We just need to know if you feel Doctor Reid would have done this.'

Rossi quickly turned to face them 'Whatever I say will be conjecture and will colour what you think. I'm not saying more. Find that injured boy and find Flanders and Reid.' He ordered, as though he had any idea how this was going to be accomplished.

o-o-o

It seemed for Spencer as though days went by. Occasionally he was hauled from his box and then tied to a post like he was an animal on display. By and large he was ignored and this time out in the sunlight gave Spencer a better chance to look around and see what was going on, what the layout of the place was and what his chances of escape were. He was slightly distressed when he saw that this place was fenced in. There seemed to be guards at gates which were kept locked. There were to one side a stack of cars piled one on top of the other and next to that was a small building which Spencer assumed was some kind of office. If he'd been able to see beyond that stack of cars he would have realised that the piles of cars just kept on going… a maze of wrecks which had been dragged here and left. As he'd seen when he first arrived, there was a scattering of caravans, but there were also bigger campervans, trucks and even a few roughly build houses. Most of the caravans and trailers had lean-tos stuck on the side of them. It looked like a scrap dealer's yard, but with children. First glance would have made you think that this place was chaotic, but after watching for a few hours Spencer could see the order appearing. The children seemed to all walk off in the same direction at around the same time and enter one of the small buildings. There were maybe twenty or so children of school age and they all went there after mid day meals had been served. There was a clattering and clanging from the scrap yard part of this place and twice trucks left and three times trucks arrived. Once a dark van pulled up at the gates, there was a buzzing sound and the gates swung open. The van pulled over at the side of one of the bigger trailers and Iolanda slipped out of the driver's side. Even though he looked like he came from the same basic stock as Floyd, this man managed to be ugly. It amused Spencer in a way and wondered if that is why he hated Floyd so much. He then wondered if this Louis Iolanda was the same sort of creature as Floyd was and then he wondered where the hell Floyd was! It had been four days at least!

He was prodded with sticks and told to go back into his cage as the sun started to go down. Spencer wanted to ask questions first though. He needed to talk to Iolanda and try to work out what was going on and what he expected. Was he waiting for Floyd –for example? Iolanda apparently didn't have the time to talk to Spencer now though.

'What are you doing to Sam?' Spencer asked of the gangly man with a face almost as flushed and red as the ginger dreadlocks he had.

'The kid? Trying to keep him alive long enough for his wounds to heal. The scaring is an issue.' There was a gappy grin to accompany this remark.

'Is he going to be all right? What happened to him?'

The shed or cell was looming now and Spencer needed to know the answers. Leon the Red took hold of Spencer's arm. 'The car ran him down. Crushed his internals, smashed his legs… cracked his spine. It's taking some effort to keep him alive. Will he be all right you ask? All right for what, exactly?'

Spencer looked towards where he'd seen people mingling and coming and going most of the time he'd been outside. It was a huge aluminium trailer with blacked out windows. Leon the Red's eyes followed Spencer's and he smirked.

'Is he going to live?' Spencer needed to know. He'd sworn to protect him and he'd been mowed down by a car? Would Sam forgive that?

'Long enough. They can feed him stuff to keep his body working and healing. He'll never walk again if that's what you're asking. He'll never think beyond drooling… but he'll live long enough for the skin to heal. Then they'll skin him… probably roast him over the fire pit. The head will be given to the dogs.'

Spencer looked at Leon and tried to guess if he was telling the truth. There was no reason to disbelieve him. 'And what are you going to do with me? Why am I here?'

'You? Well you're going to be used for games and amusement. Practice for the kids you see? Not because we have anything personally against you other then you fuck Flanders and let him screw you, but apart from that little fault we've nothing against you. What we have a big gripe against is Flanders. Now it's not easy to get hold of him. He's slippery… he's a sly little double crossing mother fucker, but he'll come for you eventually. It might just take him a while. Sam will be long gone and you'll be so damaged that he'll not want you. That is the best way to hurt Flanders… take his little toys away from him… Or get them to bite him back, which is what is going on right now. Poor Floyd is in a world of shit.'

Spencer thought of telling them that he couldn't be broken, that he'd never turn against Floyd. He wanted to pound this arrogant man into the earth then walk over and rescue Sam, but right now wasn't the time. He went to his cage and accepted his clean water and his newspaper with something wrapped in it and he tried to work out how the hell he was going to get out. The men at the gates had guns, but Spencer suspected that the guards at the gates weren't the only armed people here, though Leon the Red seemed to only have a fist full of metal rings… that was still enough to stop Spencer in his tracks. He needed time.

Time was the one thing he didn't think Sam had.

o-o-o

Sam would like to announce to the world that he's the hardest, grittiest and most fabulous young person on the planet. His healing abilities which had been leeched from Floyd were remarkable. There was a huddle of people around him. They could almost see his body pulling back together and mending. The internal bleeding had almost stopped, but they still had drainage tubes in his gut. They still had oxygen pumping over his face and they watched him 24/7/. Any change in his condition had to be reported to Iolanda. The skinning tools were being readied. They'd had long and loud discussions over the state of Sam's legs. One doctor on site said that one leg needed to be removed just below the knee and the other much higher. The limbs were shattered. There was no chance of them healing and they would risk blood clots and death. They would rot and kill him. Yet another doctor pointed out the rapid healing. It would be far more interesting to watch and see what happens. Already his liver seemed to be functioning better and he was passing urine which was a good sign.

'Only good if you're not on cleaning up duty.' One of the women moaned. 'He's pissing so his kidneys are working better than they were. Doesn't mean that they'll recover… and his spleen…'

'We will watch and wait.' Iolanda ruled. 'Keep his skin good though in case he stops healing and we use him to skin. In the meantime I'm going to go and talk to the lad and see what he has to offer me in exchange for his life. I think he'll have something. Actually I know he'll have something.'

'His spine is broken.' The woman now said. 'He's no feeling below his waist.'

'It will mend.' Iolanda informed her. 'He is the clone of Flanders. Has a broken back or neck ever stopped him?'

There was agreement on this. What they had laying in their lovely shiny medical trailer was a mini Flanders. A Flanders without all those annoying abilities which irked them so much. This little thing was going to be of use.

Sam spat and clenched his fists when he felt his arms being strapped down. He made a long howling sound and was ignored. They also strapped down his ankles just in case he _could_ heal his legs and back. Most of the people here knew of Flanders and some had seen him on those times he'd been here shouting orders and making demands of the dog… There was no love lost between any of them… and Sam _was _just a dog.

Iolanda sat on a folding metal chair next to the metal bench Sam was strapped to. He didn't say anything at first but watched the drainage tube and saw that the bag was empty. It was a curious thing to see. Otherworldly and un-natural, but fantastical at the same time. Sam was naked and Iolanda could see how swollen and discoloured the body was and how mashed and broken the legs were. There was heavy black bruising across Sam's pelvic region. 'His pelvis was pulverised.' He had been told… Iolanda doubted that Xrays would show the same this time.

'So you're back with us.' Iolanda spoke softly.

Sam moved his good eye and looked at the man he hated, feared… was devoted to… maybe in an odd way. Sam's other eye had been sewn shut for now. The eye was damaged by the pressure of the build up of blood in the brain. Sam licked his lips but didn't talk.

'In pain? You look like you're in pain.'

Again Sam licked his lips.

'I have some good stuff Sam, but only if you behave.'

'Fuck you.' Sam whispered. The words were accompanied by a drool of red, stringy mucus.

'You have spirit. That's what I like to see. There's hope for you Sammy, but why should I give you that?'

'Fuck you.' Sam said again.

'I can help you. Don't you want me to help you?'

'You've nothing I want of need. Fuck off.' Sam's voice sounded wobbly and thick.

Iolanda stood up and crossed his arms over his slightly plump chest. 'I have morphine. I have any drug you can think of. Just name your poison and I'll deliver it to you.'

Sam's lip licking suddenly became frantic. 'What do you want?'

'I want you.' Iolanda smiled. 'Think about it. I'll be back tomorrow.' He moved a hand over Sam's stomach and then laid it firmly down. 'Your belly is swelling, what's going on in there Sammy? Should I check for a blockage? Think I should pull this tube out and have a look?'

'Morphine.' Sam groaned.

'Good boy. See it was easy. You only have to ask and you'll receive. Fancy a blanket over that smashed ruined body of yours?'

Sam nodded slowly and painfully. 'Please.'

'There. Wasn't that easy? I'll come back later with your gift and maybe read to you for a while. Would you like that?'

'_Thou from low earth in nobler Flames didst rise, _

_ And like Elijah, mount Alive the skies. _

_ Elisha—like (but with a wish much less, _

_ More fit thy Greatness, and my Littleness)_' Sam recited. 'Abraham Cowley. If you have any hanging around.'

Iolanda sneered at the thing on the metal table. 'You're an arsehole aren't you? You can have Dr Seuss. That's all you're worth.'

'Or all you can read. I doubt you understand even that though. Get me some Abraham Cowley _and_ morphine and then maybe we can discuss other matters.'

'You are in _no_ position to be making demands.' Iolanda shouted at Sam. 'You are a fucking dog! That's all you damned well are and all you'll ever be. Don't forget your damned place or I'll be putting new scars on that well oiled back of yours. For now I'm siding with the people who are interested in seeing how well you can heal. Don't for one second think it's because we need you. I want you. That's all. It's a mild _want_ and it's something which a pretty girl with a nice pair of tits will make me forget you pretty quickly and as soon as my attention wavers they'll be hanging you up by your feet and gutting you over the trough. That pretty delicate skin of yours is all ready marked for cutting. A few slices and it'll come off virtually whole. The only bits staying will be your hands and feet… those we will remove separately. Don't you forget that boy with your uppity thoughts and ideas. One move in a direction I don't like the look of and you are dead.'

Sam said nothing. He laid there and looked at the man who he completely believed. His stomach turned and his available eye watered.

'I have every hope that the cunt Doctor Reid will try his hand at getting you out of here. I'll let him try. I'll let him get to you. I'll even maybe let him get you as far as the perimeter fence and then I'll stop him. Just letting you know. I'm going to hurt him. But I think I'm going to be almost nice to you, if you choose the right team to play on and considering all the time you've spent with me and poor quality time you've spent with Flanders… well think about it Sammy.'

Sam blinked and sighed. 'I'm thinking, Father.' He muttered.

Iolanda laughed and pulled a blanket out from a cupboard and laid it over him. 'I don't like to see you so messed up.'

'Then maybe you shouldn't have run over me with that car.'

'Maybe not, but let bygones be bygones. I'm ready to forgive your treachery if you're willing to forgive mine.'

'I've never betrayed you.' Sam hissed. 'Never. Not once. Don't mistake me for that bitch, Rosa. I'm not her. I'm not what she was. Don't underestimate me.'

A smirk from Iolanda now. 'Never. That's one thing I'd never do, Sammy. I know that you're filth, but I still consider you my property. You don't leave your things with someone to care for and nurture and then think you can walk off with them when the time suits.'

'Nurture?' Sam asked honestly.

'I let you suckle the dogs didn't I? What more do you want.' He then laid an almost tender hand on the side of Sam's face. 'Beware. Choose wisely. Floyd's not arrived yet and it's been nearly a week. Don't pin your hopes on him. He's obviously not that bothered about you or he would have found you by now and if not you then that Doctor. He's probably off fucking that dark haired Agent, Emily.'

'Likely.' Sam muttered… really unsure now. Very unsure.

It was a good point and as he lay there feeling his bones knitting back together and his insides cramping and swirling and fighting to recover, he did wonder where the hell Floyd was. Why wasn't he here? Why did he let this happen in the first place? What went wrong?

o-o-o

The following few days there was tremendous rain. It hammered down on the roof of Spencer's cage like rocks. There were places where the water poured through and made little at first, and then larger puddles in the confined space he was in. A woman with a bin bag wrapped around her brought food and left without speaking. She was either in a hurry to get out of the rain or had been told not to talk to him. Either way Spencer didn't mind, though he would have liked to have asked about Sam. The crying, howling screams had stopped and now all there was, was the sound of the rain… all day and all night and then into the next day and Spencer took that time to move around on his knees and feel for weak points on the walls. There were a few places where the studs holding it together had come out but nothing good enough to pull it apart.

Day five brought some hope. It was the only hope that Spencer thought he was going to get and he took it without thinking about what he was doing.

The door opened and a kid of about twelve stood there. A bit of newspaper with oil soaking through in one hand and a small hand gun in the other. Spencer moved forwards on his knees and put a hand out for the food which smelt a bit like deep fried fish. It might have been something he would have eaten had he had the chance. Very few of the offerings he'd been given had been consumed.

'Thank you.' Spencer muttered as he pulled the precious newspaper to his chest. 'Can you tell me something? Is Sam still alive?'

There was a twitch of something on the lad's face – maybe alarm? Maybe he wasn't sure if he should answer. 'Yep. And getting better each day.'

Spencer didn't smile. He kept that bit of joy inside. 'Can he walk?' He started to unwrap the food. It _was_ fish and it did smell lovely, but it looked grey and soggy. 'Is he alert and talking?'

'I shouldn't be talking to you.' The lad said but he was still crouching there with the rain hammering down behind him and the night dark.

'I doubt you are. I'm sorry. I don't mean to get you into trouble. Can you get me something?' Spencer now asked. 'A blanket? It's very cold at night and damp with this rain.' Spencer put a pleading hand out to the boy. 'Please?'

The lad sighed. The hand with the gun in it lowered and he nodded. 'I'll ask.' And he shifted to move.

It was then that Spencer grabbed him, dragged him back into the cell, took the gun and punched the boy on the jaw. He went limp immediately. Maybe too quickly if Spencer had been thinking, but he wasn't. He had a gun! He had the door unlocked and a way out in the night. He would get Sam and then they would shoot their way out of this place. Spencer checked that the boy was breathing and then scuttled out of his home, he closed the door and pushed over the bolt and with the gun in his hand he moved low and quickly to the cover of some old cars. The rain dripped down his neck and fell off the end of his nose. He was going to do this. He was going to rescue Sam and get them both out of this damned place. Then he was going to find out where the devil Floyd was!


	59. Chapter 59

59

'You son of a whore dogs arse!' Floyd was feeling particularly eloquent and he lay in a puddle of mostly blood and stared over at Az the bastard.

Az the soon to the dead.

Az the dogs pizzle.

Az… who had quite lovely eyes but a vicious nasty temper and no room to forgive.

'Hurts?' That pure echoless sharp angelic voice asked Floyd.

'Not as much as I'm going to hurt you.'

Az lay back on one of Floyd's precious hand embroidered and ancient cushions and took a puff from a glass pipe. 'You've more things than a bit of spiteful revenge from me to worry about. That whore Sam is in deep trouble, but you might have thought that already. He's _not_ a healer, Isgar. He shouldn't be using your abilities to get himself out of trouble. I've made a formal complaint about it. They are considering whether to stop what he's doing. He's a cheat. A nasty little cheat.' Az's voice dropped into a childish whine.

'Get the fuck off my soft furnishings you vile, churlish lout. I chained you here as a punishment, not so you can reduce the value of my fine cushions.' Floyd wanted to roll onto his back, but though the thing had been removed from his arse it still felt as though a two hundred year old oak tree was rammed up there and _yes_ it hurt and _yes_ it confused him slightly… he was still struggling to grow a brain and this was distracting… and… 'Sam can't leech offa me.'

'Can so too.' A soft sneering voice. 'I don't know what's better, to see you in pain or to see your pain because of the death of The Sam. He's not one of us. He has no right to use that ability. He's a dirty dog… a nasty little lesser demon. But my complaint is issued. I hope for your sake that it's heard and The Sam is amended after he's managed to heal his shattered body. He should be dead.'

'So should you.' Floyd hissed. 'I made a big mistake pulling you here.'

Az nodded. 'A monstrous mistake. You might have power over your dirty boys but you have none over me or over that scum Iolanda.'

'Fucking shut your sodding trap. Fucktard.' Floyd really wanted to think of something intelligent to say to Az but that's all that his mind would let him say. He took a long hard breath. 'Puny pig-nut.'

Az looked surprised and then Az laughed. 'Go back to sleep Isgar. Your brain is still nothing more than a spongy mushroom. Give it time.'

'Arsehole.' Floyd told Az… and this time closed his eyes. 'Get blood or jism on that priceless cushion and you'll regret it.'

Az raised and eyebrow and rolled onto his side with his back to Floyd.

'Don't you fucking turn your back on me!' Floyd shouted at the pale skin of Az's back. He got a one fingered reply from Az.

o-o-o

Spencer ducked down in the dark and stuffed the gun into his pocket. He'd made sure that the safety was on and had checked the ammo. All seemed good so far. It was a long way from where he was ducked down trying not to get too wet, to where the believed (and really wasn't totally certain) that Sam was. He wanted to wait and make sure, but there wasn't time. He knew he was going to have to be quick. There was absolutely no time to be sitting around cowering in the dark.

The rain was still crashing down… it was a horrible mixture of big fat rain drops, and small sharp ice cold bits of hail. If he didn't move soon he'd been caught in the worst storm the east coast had seen in a while. He looked around and could see nothing. There were lights on in the trailers and caravans. There was a flickering light as though it was a television… and there was the sound of a baby crying. There was music somewhere too, but actual people? There was no one.

'It's because of the rain.' Spencer convinced himself. 'They're staying in.' It might be his only chance to get away and he knew that. He looked behind at the maze of stacked up cars and tried to see beyond to the fence but his line of sight was blocked by the cars. The smell was atrocious. He was sure that this had to be illegal. The stink of gas fumes and oil was eye watering and made worse by the rain. It would take all of the toxins seeping from the dead vehicles and drag it into the ground. This whole area would be poisoned for a very long time now. Nothing would be able to grow here. Again Spencer looked around and watched the big aluminium trailer with the blacked out windows.

Spencer knew that trying to rescue Sam was a bad idea. He knew that. He was sure of it. It would be far more sensible to get away him self and report this place. The lad hadn't actually said if Sam could walk. What if he couldn't be moved? What if moving him killed him? Again Spencer looked behind at the maze of cars. 'I'll come back for you.' Spencer whispered at the trailer. 'Keep healing… I'll get help.' He then turned and keeping low, moved quickly between the cars.

It wasn't easy going. The ground was quickly turning to mud and it had been raining almost constantly for a few days now. There were puddles so big that they were almost large enough to be called lakes. Now he pulled the gun from his pocket. He was sure that he saw movement and he needed to be prepared. How to do you prepare yourself for something totally unknown? He paused in his run through the cars and crouched and listened carefully. It was almost impossible to tell if there was anything out there over the sound of the hammering rain and though the rain was going to hamper anyone trying to find him, he was going to be hampered too. He wasn't even sure if he was going in a straight line or around in circles. Now there was the beginning of regrets that he'd not tried to at least let Sam know that he would be back for him. He could have given Sam some hope. It was too late now. A few deep breaths, brushing his soggy limp hair off his face, Spencer carried on trying to find a way out.

They stood in the shadows at the side of one of the trailers and watched. They had expected The Doc to take the first chance he got, but they'd also expected him to come after Sam. That's what they thought would happen and what they'd prepared them selves for.

Iolanda looked with narrowed eyes in the direction Spencer had gone and then turned to his men. 'Give the poor arsehole hope. Let him get to the fence. I'll be there. Don't kill him! Whatever you do… don't kill him. He's no good to use dead.'

'Sir,' One of the underlings stage whispered over the sound of the rain. 'what if he shoots at us?'

There was a grin from Iolanda. 'Then let him shoot at you! If you're stupid enough to get in his line of sight then you deserve it. Don't let him over the fence and don't kill him. You can't do whatever else you want, but if he dies so do the lot of you. The gibbet has been empty for too long. I'm going to prepare the dog and bring him. Kill two birds with one stone here. Just slightly pissed that he decided to abandon The Sam for his own worthless hide.'

'Not as worthless as it looks.' A female in a see through white vest top said. The vest top probably wasn't so transparent when she put it on, but now you could see her upper body as though she'd not bothered covering up. 'Get out and do your job, bitch and stop arguing with me.'

Iolanda stood back and watched his men slithering and sliding off into the darkness. They knew every inch of the car maze. That foolish Doctor was going to be a while… unless by some fluke he recognised the pattern which had been used. Iolanda pushed his hair back off his receding hairline and shook his head. He was sure that he had more intelligence than his men had in their combined dicks. He walked now quickly to where Sam was laying on his back on the metal table.

Another dead end for Spencer. He stood with his back to the pile of cars blocking his way and closed his eyes and just tried to concentrate. He was panicking. Spencer was pretty damned sure by now that they'd know he was missing. They would know he was armed and they'd be sending people out to get him. He hoped that time would be wasted by checking on Sam first, but that was going to take seconds, not tens of minutes which this seemed to be taking. If they found him standing here he'd be trapped like the rat he felt like, with his clothes stuck to him and his boots squelching. It was cold too. The rain was actually painful. It was as though there were ice needles in that rain and Spencer's scalp and face were sore from the constant battering. He clenched his free hand. The other still held the gun and he tried to stop the crazy _I am going to die_ thoughts and think more about the way he'd been going and the dead ends he'd reached.

'A Celtic Spiral… but done in blocks, like the pattern on a tile.' Spencer's eyes seemed to light up with delight. It might not be the correct answer, but it was a start. The only problem now was that he had no idea what part of that pattern he was standing in. 'I can work it out.' He now muttered. 'I just have to try to remember the way I came, the wrong turns… and then find the other end… I'm not looking for the middle, but the way through.' He walked forwards with a bit more life in his step now. 'Right, then left… back on myself with a left straight on… third right… that should take me back… so…' Spencer turned a small circle. '…I go this way.'

They followed him. They pulled back around corners when he went the wrong way and they passed on messages to each other using hand signals. It was fun. It was a game. The Doctor seemed for a while to be running all over the place, but now it appeared that he was making sense of what was going on.

Smudge, one of the elders, waved a hand and then made a complicated gesture with his fingers. Floyd would have recognised it. Sam would have known what it meant. Had Spencer seen it he might have guessed it was a silent language, but he would never have guessed what they were saying… signals were returned and heads nodded. Iron bars, bolas, lengths of wood with nails in the end, a thing on a chain, a bit like a morning star flail, and there are a multitude of things to throw. They slithered off into the dark with grins on their faces. This was always the best part of the game. This was the fun bit. Just a shame that they couldn't kill. That didn't stop them from being allowed to maim. It wouldn't really stop the fun… He'd die in the end. Eventually Louis would get bored with having to hide the prisoner and would hang him and skin him. They wanted to scream whooping noises and sing out in delight, but they stayed silent and slowly but surely moved in on their prey.

o-o-o

Louis stood next to Sam who was in turn laying down with straps still holding him in place. 'Can you stand?' Iolanda asked him.

'No.' Sam replied.

'You look healed. Your legs are looking better.'

Sam twisted his hands in the straps. 'It's not my legs stopping me from standing.' Sam told him. 'Apart from being strapped down.'

'It's time. You have to come with me.' Iolanda began to undo the straps and Sam's eye opened wide. 'Don't look so worried muffin. You know what to do. I've looked after you haven't I? I've given you what you want haven't I? Tell me that you've not been kept happy and well with your damned dope. I hear that mother Linka, the wet nurse was here feeding you with her tits. The things I do for you! Are you going to tell me now that you didn't want that?'

'I wanted it.' Sam muttered. He felt deep, dark shame though.

The straps were gone now and Iolanda grabbed Sam's hands and pulled him up to sit. 'There you go!' Sam fell sideways with a yelp.

'It's my back.' Sam moaned. There didn't seem to be any pain, but his balance was gone and his legs felt weak and wobbly.

This just wasn't as much damned fun as Iolanda had hoped. He'd wanted Spencer to come and try to rescue Sam and he'd not. He wanted Sam to stand and walk out there and he couldn't. This was just _not_ going to plan… how can things not go to plan when there wasn't even a Flanders (the son of a dog's whore) to mess things up. 'I'll carry you.' Sam was snapped at. It wasn't Iolanda's job to carry the fucking dog! 'Don't you shit or piss on me, Sammy-Babby-Boy.'

'Don't call me that.' Sam said back in a voice which he hoped was full of hate and loathing. 'I'm not a babby.'

'You cry like a fucking babby… you shit and piss yourself like one and you drool your food everywhere… You're as worthless as a babby… except…' Sam was hauled up and thrown over Iolanda's shoulders. 'A baby is actually worth more than you. At least a baby I can train and teach. I can't even do that with you, you snivelling little dog… my dirty fuck puppy… sucking the tits of some old hag… nasty creature. But you love me don't you?'

Sam could feel the rain hammering down on his bare back. 'Where are we going?' Sam needed to know. He hadn't expected them to bring him out here, naked, in the rain.

Iolanda smacked Sam soundly on the backside, leaving a medium sized hand print there. 'Trade… I'm just unsure what I'm trading for what. We'll have to see what we find when we get to the other end. Cheer up Sammy-Babby.' He told Sam that if he behaved and if he did as was expected of him and proved his loyalty then he could have something to help his back heal. He could have titties again. He could have enough morphine to kill himself with if that's what he wanted… all he had to do was to prove loyalty… The barrage of words was none stop… the offers of lovely clothing, a nice trailer, a gun… a knife… a car… freedom. 'Just prove your loyalty and remember who loves you. You remember who loves you don't you?'

'You do.' Sam said softly.

'Do you love me too?'

'Yes, Father. I love you and I thank you, but fuck my back is killing me!'

As Iolanda trudged through the appalling weather the guys in the maze were slowly closing in. They had orders to allow Spencer out the other side. Not because Iolanda wanted to give Spencer that pleasure so much as he wanted all of his men to have a turn at smacking the bastard, and he wanted to watch and he wanted Spencer to see that Sam was there watching too.

Spencer made two wrong turns, but managed to get back again. He tripped over five times, once falling all the way to his face. The gun skittered out of his hand and sploshed into the wetness, but he could see where it had landed. He knelt in the dark and the rain and wiped the gun down, much as he had when that bitch had dragged him and nearly drowned him in the swimming pool… all those years back. Her wandering hands had never been forgotten. He thought Floyd was the only being who could have hands in all the impossible places at the same time, but that woman… that deceitful wench had tricked him… He looked down at the gun with that memory. How he'd tried to make it look as though it hadn't horrified him. How he had tried to talk to Derek about it and make him seem interested. And now his sorrow was for Derek and then for Jack and Aaron. Too much had happened. Much too much.

The rain was whipping around now that a wind had gathered. He didn't want to be amongst the cars if the weather grew to a bad storm. He knew (because he'd read about it) how quickly storms arrived in this part of the world and how quickly the warm balmy nights turned to twenty inches of snow in the blink of an eye. He had to be quick. He had to be very quick. He could, though, see light up ahead. The lights which ran along the top of the fence. How he was going to get around it he didn't know. He'd not thought that far ahead yet. He wiped tears from his eyes and let the rain wash onto his cheeks as he held his head up and with his eyes closed looked upwards. He shuddered. Shivered. He gave the gun another quick wipe and moved on. Quicker now.

The thing which caught him on the side of the face was sharp and hard. He yelped out and raised the gun, but it was just a jutting bit of car which he'd jogged into. There was a warmth growing on the side of his face and a quick check let him know that he'd cut himself. Nothing bad, but enough for it to bleed slightly. He carried on, now keeping more alert for things to trip and catch himself on. He was smothered in watery mud, engine oil and goodness only knew what else from the dogs which seemed to use this area as a toilet. The dark oblong ahead of him was a glorious sight. He'd heard no shouts of alarm yet. Maybe things were going to be all right. Maybe he could climb the thirty foot high fence with the razor wire looped around the top… maybe.

Spencer armed the water off his face. The rain was falling in a lighter spray now… but the wind was driving it harder. It was painfully cold and simply painful. He was able to push it to the back of his mind as he finally stepped out of the maze… the relief of not having cars stacked up dangerously around him was more than he thought he'd feel. Spencer leaned forwards and rested his fisted hands on his thighs and whooped in long deep relieved gulps of cold air. He heard something off to his side. He heard something off to his other side. There even seemed to be noise coming from where he'd just stepped out of. Slowly Spencer stood and looked around at the men closing in on him.

They'd been waiting for him. All this time he thought he was escaping and he was just walking right into their waiting, loving arms. His gun came up as he swung around trying to take in how many people there were and what weapons they had.

'Doctor Reid.' It was Iolanda. Spencer spun to face him and brought up the gun. There was something hanging over Iolanda's shoulder. It looked like… 'I have this.' The man threw Sam to the ground. He landed in a soft plop in the mud but he groaned and that was good. He was alive.

'You keep away! Put down your weapons!' Spencer called out, but now he was distracted by Sam who was crawling back towards Iolanda. 'Sam… come to me.' But Sam didn't. 'What have you done to him?' The gun, wavering and juddering.

'You are in no position to order me around. What did you think you were going to do? Where were you going to go? You can't get over the fence! You can't get under it. Did you think we'd not notice that the boy didn't return?' Iolanda stepped towards Spencer, stepping over Sam who seemed to be crawling away whimpering. 'Answer me! Tell me what you thought would happen! Engleman… Get that stinking dog and throw it at the fence. I want this fool to see what would have happened.'

'Don't you hurt him!' Spencer cried out, but he could hear the people moving in on him. He knew that he could shoot one or maybe two… then they'd be on him and he'd not be able to save anyone. 'Put _me_ on the fence if you want to show me. Leave Sam alone!'

Something hard jabbed at Spencer in the back. 'Put the gun down cowboy.' The jab was repeated.

'Why are you doing this?' Spencer howled as he dropped the gun to the floor. 'What have I done to you? What have I ever done?'

'Apart from giving me the shits? Apart from recovering from what I did to you last time? You interest me Doctor and that's all I need. Flanders can't help you. The dog _wont_ help you, but… sure… Boys… throw him on the fence. Maybe next time… if there is a next time he'll think more carefully.

Spencer felt the hands grab him. He felt them dragging him towards the fence and now he was closer he could hear the low humming sound it was making. He looked at Sam who had covered his face with his hands and was kneeling at Iolanda's feet. And then he flew.

Not far… his back hit the fence and he rebounded slightly, but not before the Bang… not before something tore through him so hard that Spencer was sure he was dead. His skin hissed at him. His eyes flew open and bulged with agony. His back arched and something in his head popped. He dropped to his knees and then his face… feeling his tongue swelling in his mouth. There was a stink of burning and then booted feet were kicking him onto his back. Faint, very faint laughing… from a long way off down a tunnel… Then the beating started. The smacked him on the knees, the hands, the arms… across his chest with something which Spencer in his foggy haze thought had broken his ribs and ripped his flesh off his bones. His hip cracked… then something smacked him in the face and the world went dark, but not before he looked around for Sam and saw him still sitting there, now inspecting his fingernails as though he cared for nothing in the world… But then that look. That bright eyed look… and a twitch of a hand… maybe a small salute and Iolanda kicked Sam back into the mud.

There was nothing else to remember.

When Spencer awoke he was hanging by his wrists from a pole standing around about central to the encampment. His toes just about brushed the ground but not enough to take his weight. He let out a long groaning whimper and then closed his swollen eyes again.

Where the hell was Floyd?


	60. Chapter 60

60

FLOYD

I can feel that Sam is hurting and I'm sorry for that. I'm sorry I'm not there to witness it. I'm sorry I'm not there to hand out candy for him. Someone else is doing that though. I've had to cut my ties with him for now. Az was correct, the little punk had been leeching off me which under normal circumstances would be fine, but this is hardly normal. I've managed to repair the damage darling Az did to me. It was extensive and it was painful. I apologise now, because I'm afraid that my discomfort and pain come before Sam's. He's going to have to get through his own problems with Iolanda handing him out his jollies. I'm not able to.

Spencer is another matter entirely. He doesn't draw from me. He can't. He's not capable of such and I'm not in the position right now (having no brain) to assist him. The only thing I can do is to heal now as quickly as I can, kill Az… (not quickly) and try to get _Them_ to listen to me. I need to be able to go back and get my boys home and safe.

Rossi is another thing I'm going to have to keep my eye on when I can get to him. He's OK. He seemed genuine. He's not a lustful beast and doesn't stink of sex. He smells more of aftershave and dogs. Neither my favourite scent but I don't think he's trying to lure the lads. I feel he is safe around my boys. Now if I could only get a message to him somehow? That would be good, but for now I can't. I have to lay here and make silent wishes with my face stuck to the floor by my own drool… and my brain… itching and itching like I've got lice inside my skull. I would ask Az to go dip his fingers in and scratch around for me, but that would be admitting that I've a problem here and I'm not going to do that. Who would have thought that a creature like Az would cause me so many damned problems? It's a laugh. I would laugh, but I can't… it fucking hurts! But now it's not as bad as it was. I think that Sam's pain has just increased slightly…

This would never have happened if I could have trusted Sam! I would have brought him to the field and all of this mess would have been very different.

It's not just the voices here. There are faces to join them. Not every kill I've ever made, because that would be just too many… but there are half a dozen or so and when I open my eyes I can see them… they're standing watching me, only I know that they're not really there. It's hard to explain, but it's as though they are a foggy reflection of something. They stay in my sight wherever I look. They're not ghosts… they're not here… They are a projection directly onto my eyes… like when you look into the sun for too long. They are etched there and I can't get rid of them. They move, put hands out to me… kneel and beg… they look so fucking sad and disappointed. Anthony isn't there. I think that business is over. I know that I'm totally over him. Perry is there though and some other young kid holding his mother's hand and I'm sort of disgusted with myself that I don't recognise them at first. I still don't know their names. I never did. They were beggars. Living in the streets. A woman with a W shape burnt into the side of her face. A disgraced whore and her son. I think I remember them because I remember how Iolanda once branded that word onto Spencer's back or was it Flith? Maybe it was. That was an age ago now. Many life times away. I should let you know that I was good to that woman and her kid. He was apparently sixteen, but he looked much younger. He looked sickly. I don't know how he'd survived so long. I took them home. Gave them a bed to sleep in. Offered them both work in my house. I love to show people that there is hope in life. Not everyone in the world is a bastard. Unfortunately I offered them the job out of hand because I knew they'd not be alive to accept it. But if you don't give someone hope, how can they show you disappointment? I poisoned the woman. She died in screaming agony, her son, ashen faced knelt at her bedside and howled in distress. He knew what I'd done and that only increased the fun. Firstly hope, then worry, then disappointment, and then finally the terror. I didn't poison the boy. I battered him to death with my fists.

It took a while.

I enjoyed every punch and thrust.

He died well. I don't know what he's here looking so pissed off about. They both died with a roof over their heads and the woman died in a bed! I bet that was unexpected! The lad, well no bed for him, but dirty rushes on a lice and flea infested floor. I hid them both behind the walls of the house. I'm not the sort of person to invite people round for a drink or supper so the smell didn't matter. The building has gone now. I don't know if the remains were ever found.

John Greaves. He's there too. I knew him as a kid and he died as an adult, but not at my hand – at least not entirely. Why he's there watching me I don't know. I tutored him. He was an awkward, shy child and I sort of brought it out of him. I had my ways. I was a task master. I didn't let him get away with anything and my punishments were unusual… but he learnt. He learnt well. He was lynched in some backwoods shit hole. He made a pass at another man and they strung him up from their little hanging tree. I stood and watched with my hands thrust down the front of my breaches. A good day for a picnic. He would have died slowly, but I moved in and popped his neck for him. At least I could do that much. The dirty cunt… the whore… he deserved what he got. He could have had me whenever he wanted, but he couldn't keep his mind and hands clean. I destroyed the images John Greaves had drawn. He was a fantastic artist but if nude drawings were found of me I would have joined him hanging… and no one would have walked forwards to pop my neck.

Why is there so much corruption in the world? It's a damned sick place.

Angela Rich… She's there watching me… watching me from behind my eyes, how's that for a strange concept? She worked for me. Died in a fire. A tragic accident. OK, I started the fire and sweet Angela was tied to a bed at the time, but that's hardly my damned fault is it. It's officially recorded as an accident. They got in their _detectives_ to ask questions… they didn't have the forensics back then to investigate it properly. They didn't realise she was tied to the bed. They didn't know that I'd piled straw up around her and stood there… I lit it with my silver lighter.

It _was_ a tragic accident. 'I loved that girl. Ask anyone. Dear… dear god… what a way to die. I think I shall have to move away, start my life again. I was… I was going to ask the sweet creature to marry me.' Actually she knew that I was not one hundred percent in keeping with the law. She knew I visited the dark stinking back streets where boys and girls were on offer for a few coins… And she came to me.

'I'm pregnant.' She told me.

'What? Who'd fuck you?' I asked her.

'That's not the point! I'm pregnant and don't know what to do about it. Do you know any doctors who would know how to get rid of it?'

'I myself know. But it will cost you. It's very illegal to take a life.' I told her.

She said. 'But sir, I wouldn't be able to work for you if I have a kid to care for.'

And I told her again. 'It's very illegal to take a life. It would have to be done in great secrecy.'

Angela wanted to know. 'Is there a danger to me?'

'There is always a danger.' I informed her.

So I conducted her abortion. It was messy. I had no fucking idea what I was doing so I gave her sweet tea to drink, tied her to the bed and stuffed things up her cunny until she bled. Bled a lot too. She would have died anyway. She was tied to the bed because she had tried to change her mind, but I was all prepared now. I was ready. I wanted to do this. I rammed knives and kitchen implements up her. Then I piled around her the straw and set fire to it. All evidence of what I'd done would be gone.

It was a perfect little murder and one of the first I'd done purely because I wanted to see what would happen if I stuffed knives up a cunny. Once done, never forgotten! I'd not repeat that exact exchange of torture, but I would and have done many other things… I like to see someone die. It gives me pleasure. I like to go to hangings. I like to see executions of all types. I've even applied for the job of executioner before but I was told that my enthusiasm was unsettling. HA!

So that's a snippet of the people living in my head and staying in my vision… no matter how many times I blink they're still there. Maybe they will fade… maybe their voices will face

_ Please don't!_

_ You're hurting me!_

_ What is that!_

_ Oh dear god… it's you… _ That was quite unsettling. I came across a whore in a dark room. I lit a candle and that was what he said to me. I don't know why. I didn't ask, but it was terror on his face. Time to move away… move on… but silence had to be arrived at first. Snap… I broke his neck. No time to play. No time… I got the fuck out of that place.

Such sweet memories.

I wonder sometimes if I've done so much damage to so many people that I've become desensitised to it, but I don't think I have. There is this thing called _empathy_ and on occasion I have great difficulty understanding what that is. I don't see family groups as people bonded and loving. I see each person as a separate identity… no connections with another. I see grief and I might even feel it sometimes, but mostly it's a distant and odd thing and doesn't last long… why feel for someone else. Can they not feel for themselves?

I realise too that I have not been grieving for Anthony. That's not what it had been. It was unfinished business. So Little River? Are you out there too? Is there something you need to tell me? I think so. I just can't think what it could be. I certainly killed him. I tore him apart then threw him in the river… an apt ending.

SPENCER

I did the wrong thing.

It's easy to say that now, in retrospect but at the time I thought it was my only hope.

Hope… there doesn't seem to be any of that now. I'm strung up by my wrists and barely have my toes on the ground, not that I could support my weight, my knees are a blinding fire of agony. They've removed my shirt, it was a bloody sodden mess anyway. It didn't take much for them to rip the rest of it off and I can see the state of my chest. I would feel slightly better about this had they done something to heal me, maybe… someone washed my back and chest and picked bits out which had embedded into my flesh, but I've not been provided with any medical treatment or bandages. I've still got on my cords… a raggy mess of cloth hanging from me, my belt is still there though which is good. My pants don't stay up without it and I could do without that final humiliation, though I'm sure there will be others.

They didn't kill me.

I would like to say that I'm lucky.

But I don't feel lucky.

I'm concerned that Floyd hasn't shown up or let me know he's out there somewhere. Actually I'm slightly more than concerned, I'm on the verge of outright panic. He'd _not_ leave me here for this. I know he'd not – and not because of my need to be loved by him… or my delusion that he feels anything for me… but because someone other than him is damaging me. He would do his all to stop it. I know Floyd. I know he's not just sitting back somewhere enjoying the rest. He'd been looking for us… but I've tried again to reach him and again all I get is static.

There is only one thing which Iolanda could have done to him to stop him in his tracks so effectively and that would have been to shoot him in the head or take his head off.

I know… I _know_ that if Iolanda had taken his head then he'd have shown it to me. Iolanda either doesn't have it or he is getting more enjoyment watching me struggle and not know. What's better? To not know what's happened and to live wondering why you were abandoned or is it better to know? Is it really better to have Floyd's head presented to me? No… I want that bit of hope that he's out there watching and waiting. I just wish he'd not wait so long.

I'm not going to survive this.

I get cramps in my stomach and in my limbs. My neck aches so much that head seems to be locked in a slight sideways position, resting on my right arm which is held above my head my metal loops around my wrists and then chains leading to the structure. There is room for more than one person here. It is a pole in the ground, but the pole is in a set of four… and the top of each is connected. I guess they use the cross bars to hang people. I've been told that hangings go on here. I've been told all sorts of horrific things by the youngsters who come and stuff bread in my mouth as they stand on rickety chairs. They're not afraid I will kick out at them. They show now fear at all. They are vile obnoxious children covered in a thin layer of dirt. They don't all have the same look about them, some are fair with wavy hair and others are dark with brown hair. I've noted that they are all pale skinned though. All of these people seem to have European looks to them and they all talk English with a muddled southern English accent mixed with maybe Spanish or Italian… or maybe it's just the way they talk naturally. Maybe these people have their own unique accent.

Like it matters.

I'm hanging here like something they're fattening up for Christmas and I'm concerning myself about their odd accents and colours?

Iolanda comes to see me. He has an enamelled cup with water and he lets me drink. Sam is there too, crawling on his hands and knees behind Iolanda like a pet dog. Sam is wearing a filthy clout and one of his eyes is taped shut. There's a dirty dressing covering his eye. He's crawling, but I can see that there's something wrong with that too. He's dragging his right leg slightly and he moves slowly. He has an odd lurching crawl… swaying hard to his obviously weaker right side and then shuddering to his left… then moving slowly forwards. Iolanda has a leash in his hand and that is attached to a chain around Sam's neck. They move together slowly so I have plenty of time to see them moving towards me and I have plenty of time to ready myself for anything I'm going to say. I'm watching Iolanda closely, but I'm taking quick glances at Sam. He's not looking at me though.

I can smell Iolanda's fetid breath as he speaks to me. He jerked on Sam's leash and sent him into the mud which at least lets me see that Sam is not Iolanda's best buddy right now. 'You were very stupid, but not as predicable as I thought.' He spits in my face. I can feel the warm spittle spray over my face and apart from my knees that seems to be the warmest thing on my right now. 'I thought that you'd have gone to rescue The Sam. You really did surprise me when you thought of your own needy, slimy flesh first. Not disappointed. You made it more fun for us, but yes, you surprised me. It's made me realise that keeping you locked away was a mistake too. I need you where we can all see you. You will be a lesson to these apes who work for me. You will be a reminder of what happens when someone surprises me.' He smiled at me with neat, small white teeth and then turned to Sam. 'Get on your feet, dog.' He jerked at the leash again, but Sam just flopped back into the mud. Iolanda walked to Sam, gave him hefty kick in the ribs and told him again to get out of the mud and stand like a man, if that's how he wanted to be treated. Sam groaned and got as far as his knees but no further.

It was to be a game… I knew it, but I couldn't do anything to stop it.

'Leave him alone.' I barked at Iolanda.

'Or what? What will you do if I walk over to him now and slit the dog's throat? What will you do to defend him?'

I said nothing. There was nothing I could do and he knew it. There was nothing I had to offer. I glanced again at Sam who was sitting back on his heels with his dirty arms wrapped around his chest. His head was down and his hair hanging in a dirty oily curtain over his face. It was impossible to see his expression. I couldn't tell if he was enjoying this or not.

'This…' Iolanda held something up to me. I'd not noticed he'd been carrying it. I'd been concentrating on Sam and had taken little note of what Iolanda had in his hands. It was a coiled length of leather, basically. 'I call it Pain-Giver.' I didn't think it was a very inventive name for a whip but I said nothing. 'I have a problem.' Iolanda moved back a few steps and now grabbed hold of Sam's hair. 'This thing refuses to stand. I know he can. I know he's playing games with me and I'll not have it. I've threatened him. I've hurt him. I've told him I wont remove the stitches holding his eye closed until he stands… still he does nothing. I've waved drugs in his face… tits, needles, pills, clothes, pretty girls of all ages and pretty boys too… he will accept nothing. Now I know that he would like me to think that he hates you… so now… would he see you die out of his stubbornness? I'm about to find out.' He now looked down at Sam. 'You know how much a whipping hurts?'

Sam nodded slowly, but he was now looking at me… and he looked scared. Damn this.

'I'm going to whip the Doc… and I'll keep going until you get onto your feet. How does that sound.'

I didn't take my eyes off Sam and he looked at me and I could see defeat in his face. It's a horrible thing to see. It's dreadful. I could see the protective layers he'd built up around himself falling away and he was trying… I could see for a while that he was trying to get to his feet and he was mouthing a word over and over again.

'Sorry.'

What he has to be sorry for I don't know. I was pulled around so that I faced the pole I was hanging from; my nose pressed against the tarred surface. I felt oddly like a sailor about to be lashed by Captain Bligh.

I don't know what was going on with Sam. I couldn't see. Actually I could see nothing. I had my eyes squeezed shut, my hands were open and my fingers splayed, my toes curled and dug into the soft ground and the pain… it was just one swipe across the middle of my back and it felt as though the world had exploded around me. I had felt pain before but this was something different. I felt pathetically weak as I opened my mouth and screamed. But that's what Iolanda expected. He'd not use a whip if he didn't realise how much it hurt.

The second strike came about thirty seconds later. Not that I was counting. This time my hands went to tight fists and my head crunched forwards and hit the post the world was full of bright white stars. It felt more as though I'd been hit with a red hot poker. My back was hot and raging. I could feel the warm blood running down my back… And I heard a wail of pain, and at first I thought it was from me, but it wasn't. That was Sam crying out.

How many times did he whip me? I don't know. You'll have to count the marks on my back. I have never been known for my strong constitution and I was unconscious before the forth strike. I thank whatever gods there are out there for that.

SAM

The world hates me and I hate the world.

It's so unfair!

I was almost mended and was sucking in the love and devotion from Floyd and he cut it off! He stopped it. I don't know why but I'm not very happy about it and I'm still half crippled but you know what? I'm not telling that fucker Iolanda that I feel better than I do. He gave me dope, but that's stopped. He gave me nurture or sorts and that's stopped too. He's making demands and I'm not going to fall for it. I saw what they did to Spencer. I don't know why they did that.

I don't know why Spencer tried to get away.

I don't know why he tried to leave and not take me with him.

Why would Spencer do that to me?

There's no point in trying to escape. Can't he see that? I think he can now, but couldn't he see that before? We were brought here for a reason and they used pretty good tactics to complete their mission. They had guns, rocket launchers, high powered air gun things with darts. They had sniper-fucking-rifles!

They trashed me. They hurt me so bad and I'm sure Rossi was there for a while, but he couldn't have been because Rossi was in he field with Floyd and I'd not be laying dying in the road and Floyd still be prancing away in the field… he must have been there, but I couldn't see him.

That's irrelevant in the end. I've lived in this place before. Not this exact camp, but one much like it and the only way to survive is to get along. If you can't do that then you have to pretend. You have to put on an act because once you are in one of these places you can't get out. I suspect that a lot of the people here were taken as children… snatched and brought here. Not all of them were born here. Not all of them are related to anyone else…

I've heard some nattering away in some Slovakian language. They didn't use it long enough for me to pick up exactly what it was, but it sounded like it was from there and they looked like Slovaks. There are Italians, French and there's a brother and sister who walk everywhere hand in hand and I heard her whispering in German… the rest are your basic English speakers, though often with an accent. Only a few sound like true through and through Americans. It's a very odd place to be. Almost like a circus freak show.

The new game involves Iolanda and me as his dog. He drags me around behind him giving out his orders. I sleep in a cage at night and I have to eat from dog bowls with my hands tied behind my back. (and he wonders why it takes so long to heal?) Iolanda is a prize cunt. Actually that's being to nice to all the cunts out there. He's not even worthy of that.

I'm dragged to Spencer who is hanging by his hands and Iolanda tells me that if I don't stand he will whip Spencer until there is no flesh left on his back. It makes my flesh crawl. I've been whipped by him. I still have the scars to prove it and I'm very confused.

I am not so confused that I'd cleave to Iolanda though. I hate the man. I hate him almost as much as I hate Floyd. I somehow don't hate Spencer so much. I've made a decision. I will pretend to cleave to Iolanda. Then I will pretend to cleave to Floyd. The only person I will ever cleave to though is myself. They rest of them can go to hell.

In the meantime I'm going to have to try to stand. It's really not easy. I've practiced and I can't stay upright for long. It's a balance thing and also my hip and back are screwed. My right leg wont do what I tell it to. Spencer's scream though, wow… fucking hell and shit… I didn't know someone could scream like that. I thought that sound was exclusive to me… Fuck a duck… It sort of motivates me, because even though Spencer was trying to get away, I don't think it was malicious.

Not the malicious fuckery Iolanda is playing… so I'm going to stand, just for long enough for that cunt to stop what he's doing. Spencer is no good to me dead.

He's not happy though. The bastard is never happy. Spencer is swaying and bleeding and Iolanda turns to me and the rage on his face…fuck… I've made a mistake. I should have stayed down… that whip catches me in the face. It tears through my skin and I howl out and flail back. He's calling me a liar. He's saying that I could walk all the time and I've been fucking with him… and that whip strikes once more at Spencer how has stopped crying out and shouting and is just dangling and that fucking whip is coming down on me again… I want to run, but that'd been just stupid, so I roll onto my front and put my hands over my head and let him take it out on me. I fair better than Spencer. At least… (at least?) I stay conscious… I crawl back with Iolanda and he ties my hands behind my back and shoves me in my cage and I cry at him… 'I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I'll stand better next time. I need a chance to practice.'

'You don't fool me.' The cage door is slammed.

'I want to please you but I need practice!' I howl at him. 'and it hurts, I need something to take away the pain.'

A fist in my mouth does the job for now.

I lay on my back and stare at the roof of the cage and listen to the dogs barking and I cry like the silly baby I am. My face is cut, by back is cut, by stupid body wont do what I ask it to and Spencer, who let me go berry picking… who let me do what I asked and didn't bitch, he's out there paying because I couldn't get to my feet quickly enough.

Where the fuck is Floyd? Why isn't he here yet? Why did he stop my healing?

ROSSI

There is no sign of any of them.

I've gone back to the field. It's rained heavily and the grass is flattened. It also looks as though horses have been grazing. Where there is no grass there is not thick churned over mud. I have no idea where we were standing when Floyd showed me the remains. I sort of expected there to he a hole in the ground, and I went as far as enquiring at the farm that owns the land, but they don't know what I'm talking about. They hadn't filled in any large holes. I didn't tell them _why_. I need to find Flanders. I need to find Spencer. I thought that they'd find Spencer's remains in the burnt out SUV but there were no people in it. Why would Spencer have done that? I don't understand. I don't know why I would have passed out like that and I have no idea where Sam would have gone.

I walk down the road and try to find that place where I found Sam and the only reason I can find it is because there is a ragged bit of Crime Scene tape dangling from a tree. The rain has washed any clues away a long time ago. This is useless. They've gone…

Was it some kind of joke? Are they sitting together somewhere having a good laugh over this?

Their names pop up on Garcia's computer screens whenever something concerning them comes up, but there's been nothing. The phones are turned off or at least inactive and credit cards have been silent. It's like they just got wiped away. I can't believe that.

The things Floyd said and showed me lead me to understand that the man is insane.

Therefore this game isn't beyond something I think he would do. I just don't believe that Spencer would have been involved.

Until something happens there is nothing I can do. They are marked as missing. Sam must be dead. Buried maybe somewhere in that field or out in the local woodlands. I've gone home again. There is no point in hanging around staring over that gate and wondering what happened. I'm spending time trying to get my head in order and attempting to think outside the box, but everything outside that box seems too chaotic and insane. I'm taking it easy. We are on a break whilst they try to find a new team.

I think it's time for me to retire.


	61. Chapter 61

61

For all his faults, Sam was trying his best. He only made silent, secret complaints. He only cried when no one was watching and he really did try as hard as he could to be upright and stay upright. He limped miserably behind Iolanda, with the collar still around his neck. He wasn't allowed to talk to anyone or communicate with anyone and Sam didn't break those rules. The only person he communicated with was probably the most dangerous person and that was Spencer who was still hanging by his wrists to the post. Even then Sam didn't dare talk to Spencer; it was just the occasional hand gesture if he was sure Spencer could see and only Spencer. He looked into Spencer's dull eyes and nodded… he once dared lick his lips… he twitched his fingers, screwed up his toes, but nothing beyond that. There was absolutely no point in them both dying. If someone was going to die, Sam was going to be sure that it wasn't him and he hoped (though hope was pretty dim right now) that it wasn't going to be Spencer either. He had an odd feeling about him which he thought was gut ache, but then might have been some sort of guilt. He sat at night in his cage with a bowl of water, much like the one Spencer had been given when in the small corrugated iron cell and worked on getting his body working again as it should be. There wasn't much room, so much of it was done laying on his back and placing his right leg against the bars and pushing. It hurt and Sam wasn't sure if that was good or not, but he had to get it to do what he wanted it to do.

The cage was in a long narrow wooden building. One of the few almost permanent structures. There was one small dirty window at the far end and a door opposite it. Along each side was a row of cages. Some held dogs, some were empty, two others – Sam thought there were twenty cages all told – had children in them. One of those was a fair haired woman with a huge pregnant stomach and the other had a boy of about seven years old. If they were taken out during the day, Sam didn't see. The dogs were exercised though. He'd thought about calling out to the woman and asking who she was, but decided to keep his mouth shut. There was no point in stirring trouble. Sam wanted Iolanda to think that he was on his side, and so far he thought he'd been fairly convincing.

Spencer was given water to drink and something thick and tasteless to eat. He'd thought about turning it down and telling them he'd rather die than co-operate, but he didn't think that his threat was much of a threat. They wouldn't really care if he was dead or not. Each day his back was washed with salt water. It was almost as agonising as when the whip had ripped at his skin. His front where he had been hit in his escape attempt was also washed but it was a cream ointment they rubbed on there. It was in Spencer's mind to make sure that the scars on his back left a lasting reminder and he wondered if Sam had gone through this agony too. Spencer had noted the small hardly noticeable nods and hand gestures. He'd noted Sam licking his lips and that eye blinking at him. Spencer thought at first in his raging pain and fear of what was going to happen to him, that Sam was almost gloating, but this was the fifth day and the pain had subsided to a degree that pain wasn't the only thing he could think of. Now he thought that Sam was letting him know that he was there. Telling him to hang on… though this might have been part of the fever Spencer thought he had.

'You know if you apologise, he'll let you down.' A tall woman with a slight Spanish accent was wiping something over his chest.

'I've nothing to apologise for.' Spencer told her. The rain had stopped, the sun was bright, but not too hot, but he could smell the sweat and dirt coming from her. 'You're not local.' He told her, trying to get a conversation going.

'No one is.' She told him. 'And I'm not meant to talk to you, but if you just tell him you're sorry…'

He looked into her dark eyes and slowly shook his head. 'What have I to be sorry for? I was abducted and brought here. I'm not here because I want to be.'

Her fingers moved over his chest, down to his tight stomach and slipped behind the fabric of his pants. 'You can have some of this if you get on the right side of him. You can have me… big boy.'

Spencer flinched from her touch, but there was not anywhere to go. 'I'm not apologising for something I have no idea what I've done… I don't… I can't…'

'You really aren't much fun are you? Do you like boys? Is that why you're not enjoying this?' She smiled a very white toothed smile at Spencer and removed her hand.

'I'm in pain. I've been hanging here for a week. I'm sorry if I can't enjoy what you're doing to me.' He tried a smile on her. 'You think if I say something to him, that he'll let me down?'

She glanced over her shoulder to see if anyone was watching or listening. It was the usual… no one seemed to be paying attention. 'He's a great man. He's saved many people. You might not be able to see that where you are now, but you will come to understand Iolanda better if you just tell him you're sorry. Give him reason to trust you. You might be surprised and actually like living here.' She touched the side of Spencer's face gently with her fingertips… and again Spencer wanted to flinch away. It took all of his effort not to.

'He saved you?'

'Absolutely. I was a whore living day to day… I had nothing except for the beds my clients too me too. Iolanda took me from all of that and brought me here.'

'And now you have all of this.' Spencer acknowledged as he looked around at the filth.

'I'm not a prisoner. None of us are. None of us want to leave. There's nothing out there for me, Spencer… nothing. If I ran away what would happen to me? I would lose all of this security. I would lose everything. Iolanda has given me a second chance. You should trust him. See what he's doing here. This is a fantastic place.'

'I will think about what you've said.'

'You do that hun, I don't want to see you destroyed by him just because you're too stubborn to say that you're sorry.'

Spencer wiggled his toes and nodded again. 'Do you have any contact with Sam?' He whispered this to her.

She stood back from him and the smile was gone. 'I'm not allowed to talk to you.' She spun and was striding across the open area in front of him before he could say more. Spencer didn't know if that meant that she did or not. He'd not seen Iolanda today and he'd not seen Sam. The only time he got to see Sam was when he was being virtually dragged by his neck behind that (bastard) man, Iolanda. As for _wanting_ to be here, well Spencer couldn't see that every happening. Something pretty drastic would have to happen to every other living creature on the planet for Spencer to want to stay here. At least that's what he was thinking right now.

He saw Iolanda just as the sun was going down. Someone had been to see Spencer since the woman with the dark hair. He'd not started a conversation with this woman. He felt too humiliated to want to talk. He'd washed him. Pulled his cords down and scrubbed him with warm water. Spencer had to admit that the stink was something dreadful… He was just glad that Floyd wasn't here to smell him. He was a long way past the gentle pong of man sweat and well into the category of sewer. She'd given him a fresh pair of pants to wear, which shocked Spencer because he knew that they were his. They must have taken their belongings from the SUV. It was nice to be in clean and dry bottoms though.

'Try to stay clean.' The woman said as she buttoned Spencer's fly and did the belt up again. 'You're a skinny thing, but I'd still rather hose down the dogs cages than do this.' She threw the dirty wash cloth away, but carried off Spencer's very nasty dirty clothing.

So when Iolanda walked over to Spencer the stink wasn't quite as bad as it had been when he'd started his day. 'Good evening Doctor.' Iolanda spoke calmly. Almost as though it was _him_ who was sorry. 'How are you feeling?'

'I'm feeling not too good.' Spencer admitted.

'Too bad. That's really too bad. Tomorrow I'm going to get someone to bring a chair out here and I'm going to sit down and have a conversation with you. I think it's time we spoke properly and not in anger. I hope you've taken your time to see that not everything Floyd thought about me is true. I hope that you realise that he's not coming for you. He's incapacitated.' And Spencer saw Sam's eyebrows shoot up in alarm – Spencer glanced at Sam and then looked back at Iolanda.

'He would have sent me a sign by now if he was coming for me.' He said dejectedly. 'He would be here by now if he was going to be here.'

Iolanda smiled and then turned to look at Sam. 'I can understand him not caring about his dog, after all he is completely replaceable. Any back passage is good for Floyd.' He gave Sam a gentle tug on the leash. 'And this one is damaged. Amazed how fast he healed… sort of disappointed that the healing didn't completely work out for him, but he's slowly getting there. I'll not let this one go again. He's sort of cute, don't you think? Sort of desirable? I don't understand why you didn't try to get him out of here with you.'

Spencer had been ready for this question. He'd spent hours making up a story to explain it. 'I did consider trying to get Sam, but then thought that he's probably already turned to you. I wasn't sure how badly he was hurt. I didn't see the accident. I was told he was dying. What would have been the point in trying to get him out when he would have probably wanted to stay anyway? He would have raised an alarm. He would have resisted my attempts. Sam and I have never gotten along. He's always been a thorn in my side. Why would I bother if he was going to put my escape in jeopardy? It wasn't worth the risk. Sam wasn't worth the risk. As you said… he's replaceable.'

Sam groaned slightly and frowned. Did he believe what Spencer had said? He didn't know and had now way to communicate back with him.

'You're a dirty little coward. I think that's why. You took a gun from a child, whose jaw you broke and nearly killed. You left him for dead. A very brave thing to do… I was shocked. I was very shocked.'

'I'm sorry I hurt him. I saw it as my only chance. I was wrong. I should have accepted your hospitality.'

'Oh yes, you should… you really should have. Maybe tomorrow you can apologise to the lad. I might feel better about you if you did. I'm happy to see that you're in a place in your head now that you can see what a cunt you are. What a filthy shitting mother fucker you really are. Feds train you well. They're all sons of bitches. I have no idea why Floyd let you join them. What was he thinking?'

'It wasn't Floyd's decision.' Spencer snapped back at him.

'You really still believe that? You honestly thought you had control over your life and your future. Foolish young man. Very foolish. I think you can spend another night there, then I'll let you say your apologies to everyone and release you from there. Don't get to thinking that I'm going to let you go though… you're a nasty faggot bitch who needs to learn his lessons… and as there's no any more to teach them, I'll happily take on the job.' He didn't give Spencer a chance to respond, but turned his back and dragged Sam who was still crawling on his hands and knees, away.

o-o-o

Floyd sat alone in his tent. He was feeling a lot better now. The pain in his head was gone, though it itched at bit. There was a cloying smell of earth which seemed to follow him everywhere. It would soon be time to make his move and leave this place and go back for his boys. Az was gone. Az was very gone and never going to come back again. Floyd belched to make his point. A pile of chewed bones sat by the entrance of the tent. A wooden bucket sat next to it with a head sitting in a pool of goo. Floyd hadn't removed the brain. Az's brain wasn't something Floyd wanted as part of him. This was going to get him a tick in the _bad boy_ box back at The Bastion, but Floyd didn't give a shit.

He laid down on his cushions with his hands at his side and took a deep breath. It wasn't going to be fun. He knew it wasn't going to be fun. He was going to have to dig himself out of a few foot of dirt. Floyd knew that it wasn't six foot. He knew it wasn't going to be more than a few feet of earth but he had no idea if darling Anthony had put rocks on the top. However he knew that it wasn't going to be too bad. He'd dug himself out of worse trouble in the past. A few foot of dirt was nothing.

Concentrating, he squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his fists. 'I'm on my way back, boys. I hope you've been behaving yourself. Would have been nice if you'd come dug me up… and the fact that you've not is going to cost you, unless you have a very good reason.' Floyd took a deep breath and was gone.

The earth pressing down on him really wasn't as bad as the wet. There was water leaking in from everywhere it seemed. It wasn't what he'd expected and his first instinct was to back off and return. He wasn't in earth so much as a thick mud. It stank like the muck you find in the bottom of a pond. It wasn't the sweet scent of earth he'd been smelling since he'd slaughtered a struggling, screaming, begging, bleeding Az. It was going up his nose and in his mouth, which he closed tightly along with his eyes. A deep breath of shock was also something he did, which was something he usually did when coming back from the dead. The shock of breathing in the unwelcome lungful of mud brought him to clarity. The next thing after nearly killing himself with the mud was to sit up. He made it as far as sitting which just about got his head out of the mud. It was a struggle. The sides of the hold caved in. He scrabbled and kicked his way up and out. It had been his intention to sit in the sunshine and take it easy for a few hours before tracking his lads down, but he found himself in his knees coughing black mud. His thoughts that he'd now be able to give Sam back some healing were gone. He still needed it for himself. That much was obvious. He curled up in the grass which was springing up again now that the rain had stopped. The grass slid and twisted around him – cocooned him – protected him from the sun and the wind and the wild animals and he lay helpless and let it. With this peaceful bliss surrounding him he opened up and sent Spencer a message.

_Spencer?_

Just the one word, but he hoped it would be enough. He hoped Spencer could hear it. Then he sent a warm comforting bit healing over to Sam. He felt Sam jump at it, start to push it away, and then he felt as though it was those times he'd let Spencer drink his blood, only this time it was Sam drinking his health. Floyd shook and shuddered. He felt the crippling pain in his back and pelvis and then he fell asleep and let nature take care of him. It was the grass. He knew he was safe. He could smell lavender. He could sense The Old Woman even if he couldn't see her. Even if she would deny that she was helping… Floyd knew that she loved him unconditionally. It felt like he was being held and loved by the most pure thing in existence. Sleep came fast and deep. The Old Woman would keep his boys safe. She'd not let anything happen to them.


	62. Chapter 62

62

Spencer spent that night half asleep but mostly awake. He had every expectation that the following day he would be dead. He didn't doubt that much at all. He also knew that if he stayed here strung up much longer that he'd die anyway and he had reason to believe that Iolanda was keeping a very close eye on his condition. He'd not want him to die hanging here. Iolanda would want to do it himself. He'd want to get his hands dirty. That's how Iolanda was, probably not unlike Floyd in that respect.

Morning activity started at first light and it was different today. The whole camp seemed to be up and working as soon a the grey morning light appeared through the trees. They set out what looked to be seating set out in benches. They quickly, very quickly set boards down over the mud. Spencer frowned as he watched them work. This was something they did frequently. Everyone had a job and knew exactly what to do. A huge marquee was set up over the seating, the sides enclosed, and the front open. A small platform was set up at the front and on that small platform which stood about two foot higher then the new flooring, they placed a very ornate, high backed chair. It was heavily padded on the back and seat. The arms were wooden and carved with images of something which looked like faces, but Spencer couldn't see from where he was what they were. They had neglected giving him a drink this morning; they were too busy setting up what looked to be seating for an audience and he thought that he was going to be the entertainment. By the time the light was full and the sun was showing Spencer that it was possibly around ten in the morning, the work stopped and the people began to sit on the banks of seating. They were looking wide eyed at Spencer and chatting between themselves. It was the most macabre thing Spencer had ever seen; at least until someone started beating a drum in a steady rhythm which caused the _audience_ to fall into immediate silence. A small boy wearing a red and golden jacket and black trousers walked slowly from the back of the marquee towards the front. No one turned to look. All eyes were now down at the ground. This was now the most macabre thing Spencer had ever seen. The drummer boy stood in front of the small platform, keeping the beat of the drum, staring straight ahead. This was a very well practiced exercise and it made Spencer's gut ache and churn with panic.

Now without any sign, but Spencer was sure that there had been one, everyone stood. The drummer boy who was already standing, went to one knee without missing a beat.

Iolanda walked from the rear of the marquee, through the centre of his people, which must have been over a hundred… and there were no really young children here. He had three big and heavily armed men with him; automatic rifles held against their shoulders, but it was Iolanda who drew Spencer's attention now. He was dressed in bright red. A long velvet cape which dragged on the ground behind him and had a collar of white fur. He had on his head a dainty silver circlet which, in Spencer's opinion was more than a touch creepy. The small procession stopped as Iolanda reached his chair. The boy with the snare drum placed it carefully to one side and lay on his stomach in front of the small platform. Iolanda used him as a step and then with a flounce and a swish of fabric sat on his _throne_. The boy didn't move. He lay with is arms stretched out in front of him and his face turned towards the wooden platform. There was complete silence. The only thing Spencer could hear was the thumping of his panicking heart. He hoped this was going to be quick. He had reached the stage now where he was actually hoping that this was going to be a decapitation, but as far as he could see, there was no executioner's block.

Birds flew across the blue sky in a white V shape. Leaves were moving in the trees, but Spencer couldn't hear them.

Iolanda looked at Spencer but didn't smile. It was a look of victory he had on his face and Spencer didn't know why. He was about to find out.

'I have gathered the people together today to show you something.' Iolanda was talking to Spencer. 'I will show you what I can offer you. I will show you what my people think of this wonderful place. I will prove to you that your simple, closed mind needs educating. Are you ready?' Iolanda gave no chance for Spencer to reply. The man turned his head to the side and called out. 'Dog! To me!'

Sam, now with no leash, scuttled forwards. He was still on his hands and knees and he kept his head down so no one could see his face. Sam was filthy. He'd not had someone washing him the way Spencer had. His hair which could be lovely when washed and brushed was a matted dull curtain. Sam crawled over the boy laying on the floor and up onto the platform where he knelt with his hands on the ground and his head down, next to his master.

Iolanda called out again, this time gently stroking his new dog. 'Call for the first declaration!' And now someone else walked from the side of the marquee. There was obviously a small crowd of people waiting there. This person walked forwards. A tall gangly man likely the same sort of age as Spencer. He was dressed in dirty jeans and a Tshirt. There were what looked to be hand made shoes on his feet. He took up place standing in front of Iolanda and then dropped to his knees in an odd sort of bow. The man then turned to Spencer and walked towards him. There was a space of about ten foot and the man halved the gap.

'I am Mark Atkins. Two years ago I was found begging on the streets. I was offered help. I was brought here and trained and shown the error of my ways. It was hard. Life isn't meant to be easy. Life is meant to be a long line of trials. They begin the day you are born and end the day you die. I have been shown that through hard work and by constant graft that everything else falls into place. If today someone walked through those gates and offered me a million dollars and a new apartment, I would turn it down.' He now turned to look at Iolanda again and did the kneeling bow. He rose and walked away to into the marquee.

'You see, Spencer. What I am trying to show you here is that people are not prisoners. They are not slaves. I have offered them a better life.' He pulled on Sam's hair and forced his head up. 'Tell him dog.'

Sam spoke slowly, but the thing Spencer found strangest about this next thing was that Sam made eye contact with him. The eye which had previously had dressings covering it was now clear and open. He seemed to bore into Spencer's eyes with his own for a few seconds and then he looked away. 'I have always wanted and needed love and security. All I've ever got is abuse. The only time I've ever known my place is when I've been with Iolanda. For a while I was under the impression that the bright city lights and the streets was what I was after. I left this place thinking I'd never return, but all I got from you and Flanders was pain and hate. I know that this is the place I belong. Here I don't have to live in fear. Here I have everything I need. I am loved. I am secure.'

Iolanda let got of Sam's hair and his head dipped forwards again. 'Are you getting the message now?' Iolanda asked Spencer who nodded slightly.

'What I see are people who thought they had nothing and now feel that they are safe? They had nothing else. I have a home. I have a mother who loves me. I have friends. I have Floyd. I don't need you. I don't want to be here. If I'm going to stay it wont be through choice.' Spencer's voice was a low rasp. His throat was swollen and painful and his face was burning with heat.

Iolanda stood and walked down off the platform, over the boy and towards Spencer. His loyal dog followed. 'You have no home. You have what Floyd gives you. It's not yours. Nothing you have is yours. Your mother is mad. She doesn't always even know who you are. Your friends are dying around you, or joining your mother in insanity. Sam has left you for my loving care. Flanders wont be back any time soon. Hotchner is grief stricken because Flanders killed his child. Morgan is dead because Flanders didn't like him as a threat. Garcia spends her nights in an alcohol induced slumber. JJ is on Flanders' _hit list_ and Emily Prentiss? Well if Flanders could he would have fucked her too. So what exactly is left for you, Spencer? What will you go back to? The properties owned by Flanders are being purchased out from under him… There is nothing to go back to.'

'You're wrong. Floyd will be back.' Spencer groaned back at Iolanda.

Iolanda held out his hands to Spencer. 'Will you allow me to show you what I can offer?'

'I've seen nothing I want.' He answered. 'How can I form a balanced opinion if I'm hanging here.'

There was a smile from Iolanda now. 'I will release you. I will show you, but please notice that I have armed men with me. One move against me or my people and I'm afraid that will be one move too many.' Iolanda turned to the people in the marquee. 'Cut the student down and take him to medical. He will scream. Don't be alarmed. It's just muscle pain from his shoulders.' Iolanda clicked his fingers and Sam rushed to his side… Spencer watched Sam rub his head against Iolanda's leg. He had no thoughts about anything else. Iolanda had been right. Spencer screamed when he was taken down from the pole. He screamed and didn't stop howling and crying until they jabbed a needle into his thigh and shut him up.

It was Sam's first day off the leash and there was no way he was going to risk being back on it again. If Iolanda wanted him to crawl in the dirt behind him, then that's exactly what he would do. That by no means meant that Sam intended _staying_ crawling in the dirt. He's woken up that morning knowing that it was his first day to be trusted. He knew that Iolanda would chop him to bits and put him in the cooking pot if he didn't obey him, but he also woke up tingling with delight. Iolanda might keep telling him and Spencer that Floyd was gone and not coming back, but Sam now knew otherwise. It hadn't lasted long, just minutes, but that feeling of warmth and tingling had been enough for Sam to pull what he needed from Floyd and blast his back and pelvis with that final bit of healing. He was in actuality feeling wonderful. He'd not been pain free without the help of drugs since the _accident_, but he wasn't going to let Iolanda know. Now Sam could forget having to bite back on the pain and he could concentrate on how the hell he and Spencer were both going to survive. Sam still groaned and moaned and begged for chemicals to put into his system because if he didn't then Iolanda would wonder why. He thought that he'd only been let off his leash because if he could hardly stand without falling down he was hardly going to be able to run far. Sam was taken to Iolanda's trailer after the odd meeting in the morning. He was shown a pile of blankets and told that he could now sleep there. He was given food and water, but not the freedom. Iolanda had him chained up, but that was better than being locked in the cage. Things were coming together. Floyd was coming to get them. The quick blast of healing could only have come from Floyd. It was such a relief that Sam curled up on his blankets and cried softly into the crook of his elbow.

'What's wrong? You got what you wanted didn't you?' Iolanda asked the snivelling Sam.

Sam looked up with wet eyes and tried on a smile. 'It's because I am so relieved that you trust me enough to bring me here.'

'Trust? I don't trust you any more than I'd trust a rabid badger. You don't deserve trust. You can't afford to trust an animal. Especially one like you.' The man came over to Sam and handed him a cup of milk and then sat back on his hunkers. He'd removed the red cloak and was wearing black pants and a white shirt with a waistcoat over the top. It was almost but not quite what Floyd would wear. Whereas Floyd managed to look hot and fuckable, Iolanda managed to look like a porky 1930's porn director. He looked sleazy to the extreme. 'I am never sure what the mentality is of some people, Sam. They bring a baby home and let a damned dog near it. They lay the baby with the dog and think it cute that the animal will lick at that tender pink skin. I've read so many times, experienced so many times this sick act… the act where they trust the dog not to kill the baby.' He gave a small shrug. 'They let children play with animals and then they get surprised when the dog bites. They seem to have as much trust in the dog as they would have in a person. It's insanity. Never trust an animal, Sam… never.'

Sam blinked at Iolanda and sipped at his milk. 'May I say something?' Iolanda gave him the go ahead with a nod. 'You left me with dogs when I was a nippling. You left me to suckle from them.' Again a nod. 'Didn't you think that the dogs might attack me?'

'I was hoping they'd rip your throat out.' Iolanda watched Sam's throat wobble as he swallowed. 'I was rather hoping that the dogs would see you as their enemy and eat you for dinner. Each day I'd come to see you and there you'd be… like some damned jungle boy being raised by the wolves. I wasn't in the position to kill you myself and the dogs seemed to take a liking to you. You have no idea how much I hated you for that.' Sam said nothing. He couldn't think of anything to say. He drank the rest of the milk and held the cup out for Iolanda to take. 'He's not coming for you, Sam. Stop wasting your time in fruitless hope. Don't raise the hopes of Spencer with your little gestures and the meeting of minds crap you're trying to do… he's dead. I shot him myself in the back of the head. Anthony… he buried him. He's gone.'

Iolanda should have known better. He really should. Sam said nothing though, but nodded and tried to look sad. Now the delay made sense. The removal of his healing made sense. Floyd was using it himself. So if that was the case, where the hell was he now?

o-o-o

Floyd spent three days in his cocoon of grass. He didn't do much but talk in sporadic bursts to The Old Woman.

'How long are you holding me here for? I need to go and get my boys.' His voice sounded thick, clogged with mud.

She answered him. 'Until you are ready. You're not ready to go off doing what you think you need to do. You have to think carefully about this. Iolanda can seriously damage you.'

'He can damage my boys too.' Floyd snapped. 'You need to release me.'

'Keeping you safe.' She replied. 'Your boys are surviving. They might not be happy, but they are surviving. If you go racing in to get them back before you are ready, he will kill them in front of you and then tear you apart again. You'll be no use to them. You need to wait.' Her voice was calming and soft… it was like a feather pillow and a cup of tea on a rainy Sunday afternoon.

'I am ready.' Floyd told her, but he was feeling lazy and lethargic and more than a bit tired. Maybe he just needed to sleep.

'Each time something serious happens to you, they take a part of you and lock it away. What I suggest you do is to take a good look at yourself, Floyd… at your inner self and at what you can and can't do… remember what you were and then go and negotiate with those powers you've put your lot in with.'

'_They _ will give me nothing.' Floyd whined. He sounded horribly like Sam moaning about the lack of candy.

'You need to ask them. I'll keep a watch on Spencer and Sam. If something happens or if danger arrives, I will call you back. For now I'm keeping you bound. Go negotiate. If you have to crawl and beg then that's what you must do.' She paused and when she spoke again she sounded angry. 'Your gift were given to you by _US_ they have no right to take them from you. I could maybe pass some to you from elsewhere, but they would corrupt and not last. If you want to get your boys back alive, then I suggest you go to Hades and ask. Make a deal maybe, but please Floyd, think before you sign that dotted line.'

Floyd was going to answer but he could feel that she'd left again. The damned woman never stayed for long. 'Fuck you.' He muttered.

That didn't stop him from doing what he'd been told to do. He screwed up all his energy and went back to where he'd come from before he dug himself out of his grave. Now he seemed to be wearing a white sarong and not much else. With a sigh he walked. Direction not mattering, as long as he kept going… sooner or later someone would come for him or he'd find someone. Time, distance… they meant nothing here. He could be here for minutes and years pass back where Spencer was or the other way around. This time it wasn't so bad though. He got his little spot light on him after walking for a few hours. He stopped walking at that point and started talking. 'I need to speak to someone.' He called out. 'I have to talk to whoever it is in charge of what has happened to me.'

'You assume that someone cares.' The voice echoed back at him.

Floyd wanted to get angry and shout abuse but he took a deep breath and bit back the string of obscenities. 'Someone will care if they listen to what I have to say. I'm willing to make a deal here. I'm willing to compromise on things, but I have to talk.' And with that the little light went out. 'Damn you! I want to make a deal. I need my boys back! Sam is in danger! I have to get them back off Iolanda!'

And there… the light came back on again. Floyd wished they'd just stay tuned into him and stop fucking around like this. It was going to give him a sore head.

'Iolanda is a menace. What is it you want?' This time a different voice, or rather voices, as these voices were legion and they made Floyd shudder.

'I wish to negotiate my abilities. The ones you've taken from me.'

'It's called degeneration. You can't have them back.' Floyd's hair moved lightly in the breeze the voices made.

'I know you can reverse that. I can get Iolanda for you, but I can't do that in this condition. I'm begging you.' Floyd ground his teeth and went to his knees. 'What do you want in exchange? Can we make offers?'

Silence… but the light was still on. Floyd stayed on his knees… the knees he used for blow jobs and prayer… he guessed that's what he was doing now – praying. He waited. And then he waited a bit longer… finally the voices spoke again.

'Give us reasons.'

Floyd was confused. 'Reasons?'

'That we would give you back what you want when you fuck up your duties time after time.'

'Give me another duty! Give me something to do! I will kill Iolanda for you! I'll do that.'

'We have something else. You may have back four of your lost talents. Think on it. Then you will be given a job to do.'

This wasn't what Floyd wanted though. 'You don't understand. I have to get Spencer back! Floyd is one of you! He's from here. He was spawned here. I have to get him away from Iolanda.'

'Three talents…'

'You said four!' Floyd protested.

'Two talents.'

'What the fuck! What's going on? I'll do a job for you! But I must get Spencer back first! And Sam…'

'One… You're hard to negotiate with Flanders.'

Floyd stood now. 'This isn't a fucking negotiation! This is some fucking joke! I'll do the job you want, but I want to get my boys back first… in exchange for four talents.'

'Two.' The voices shouted.

'Three!' Floyd shouted back again. 'I'll get rid of Iolanda, get my boys back and I'll then go and do what you want me to do.'

'Give your blood.' A small knife fell to the ground in front of Floyd's toes. 'Renege and you will regret it. So will your boys.'

Floyd picked up the knife and sliced it across the palm of his hand. The blood seeped out and with his hand held out in front of him, Floyd let the drops fall to the floor, which seemed to heave and swell in response.


	63. Chapter 63

63

Once the pain had subsided slightly and Iolanda was able to talk to Spencer and get some sense out of him and think that Spencer was actually listening to him, he went to talk. He didn't have Sam with him this time. Sam was sprawled out on his front in the trailer dripping blood and snot from his nose onto the blankets. Iolanda hoped he'd not have to punish Sam like that too often, but dogs should never speak unless spoken to and they must never answer back. It riled Louis Iolanda that he wasn't always treated with the god like respect he demanded.

So now he stood next to Spencer's bed. Clean sheets had been provided and a nice firm mattress. He hoped that Spencer was happy with the luxury. He hoped it was appreciated.

'How are you today?' Iolanda was rubbing at his skinned knuckles.

Spencer looked towards him and nodded. 'Considering where I've been for the past week, I'm feeling quite good.'

This pleased Iolanda. Spencer could see it did. 'Tomorrow I will set you to work. I will show you where you will earn your living and where you will learn respect. You will give yourself over to me, Spencer. I don't want your dirty body. I don't want you in a physical sense. I want your soul… and it smells so good. I can taste it at the back of my throat. No wonder Flanders desires you so much. Don't look worried Spencer. I'm not here to hurt you. I'm here to show you a way forwards. Immortality. Wouldn't you like that? Isn't that something you'd desire?'

An eternity with Iolanda? No… Spencer certainly didn't want that. 'Yes.' He whispered.

If Iolanda suspected that lie he didn't react. 'Then tomorrow I will show you how things work out here. You are privileged. I usually send someone else to deal with this part, but as we know each other so well I thought I'd make the effort.' He turned to walk from the small trailer room. 'You will find things will be much better for you here. There will be not desire to leave. You will realise that. I truly believe that you will understand that this is for your own good.' He spun again and looked into Spencer's eyes. 'Is there something you're not telling me? Something you want to unburden yourself with? Maybe a secret you're keeping from me?'

Spencer licked his lips and shook his head. 'Nothing.'

'Are you going to thank me for rescuing you from that barbarian and showing you what life could be like?'

This time Spencer blinked. 'I apologise if my attitude isn't what you'd expect, but so far I've been locked away, beaten, hung up by my wrists and whipped. I'm finding it very hard to see what it is I have to thank you for. You say you've killed the man I love. You've beaten Sam into submission… you're right, I've nothing to go back to, but that doesn't mean I'll want to stay here. When I'm convinced, only then will I say Thank You. Until then you're going to have to put up with me being sceptical about the outcome.'

In a big way this ungrateful attitude pissed Iolanda right off. He thought Spencer was a weakling. He thought he had the sort of mind that would crumble and be easy to get thinking his way. This was interesting though. After all he'd been through, there was still fire in his belly. In another way, Iolanda liked this. Something to fight against maybe, unlike Sam who just seemed to fall back into place very easily, but Iolanda knew Sam and knew his weaknesses. He'd groomed him that way. Iolanda thought he knew Sam better than Sam knew himself which was good… it was very good… but maybe too easy… this was going to be more fun. 'I see. Do you have an idea of the sort of trouble one of my followers would be in if he or she or it spoke to me in that way? If one of them defied me like that.'

Spencer shook his head. 'I'm not one of your followers. I'm not going to be unless you show me something very convincing, like that ability to bend time or turn mud into gold. This isn't defiance you are seeing, it's hate and maybe a bit of fear. I know what you're capable of. I still wake up in a cold sweat seeing that baseball bat coming towards my face and feeling the bones in my face shattering. So yes, this isn't defiance. It's some sort of – I don't know… death wish? How much can I get away with before you'll kill me? Will killing me again wipe out the horrors of the old dreams.'

'Absolutely.' Iolanda stepped back towards Spencer and put a hand on the black bruises coming up on his shoulders. 'Those old dreams will never haunt you again. I'll give you something far more horrific.'

'Iolanda – If you intend to coerce me with threats I think you're going to have to do better than that. You ripped out my rib bone when I was still alive. You ate part of me. What can possibly be more horrific than knowing that? Knowing when you smile that those teeth have nibbled on my rib bones.'

'Oh please stop… you're breaking my heart! Pull yourself together. Get better. Tomorrow I'll show you what we do here to survive. There're a couple of things… I think I know where you'll do the best work. It's all about that. It's not punishment. It's learning to obey.'

'I'll never be a follower of yours, but I'm willing to see what I can learn.'

'That's a good start. Don't forget that dream for now though. It will keep you on your toes. I'm just as capable of tearing you apart as Flanders was, actually more capable as you don't do a thing for me. Now I have to go. Work to do and you need your rest.' Again Iolanda walked towards the door. 'Sweet dreams, Spencer.'

He lay there in the silence of the room for a while thinking what was the best course of action to take. Sam seemed to be coping in his own way and Spencer thought, but wasn't sure, that Floyd sent him a message… just Spencer's name, but then again it might have been wishful thinking. There'd been nothing since and the silence in his head was as bad as being trapped here in this compound of lunatics. Spencer thought carefully on the situation and decided that as long as what Iolanda wanted him to do didn't involve sex or pain of him or another then he might think about going along with him for now. Maybe until he was trusted enough to get contact with Sam and see how things were with him. The frustrating thing was that his place was full of loyal followers of this man who had set himself up as a leader, maybe a religious leader. Thoughts of Kool Aid drifted through his mind and made him shudder, but then he'd been on the inside of a religious compound before. He knew that somewhere amongst them would be someone who didn't like the situation. He just had to locate that person.

o-o-o

Floyd dropped the small knife to the floor and stared out into the darkness. They'd not spoken to him again. They'd not asked which of his wonderful talents he wanted back again. He'd not been told what else this new deal involved and as he stood there with his hand stinging and his eyes straining to try to see into the darkness he had a horrible thought that they'd taken his oath and were now going to abandon him here. 'Is there anyone there?' He thought that there might have been a tinge of worry in the tone of voice he used. He needed to remain calm and stop getting angry with beings which could crush him easily with a just a thought. He hunkered down and ran a finger through the blood on the floor. What the hell had he done? Floyd stood again and turned in a circle. 'Hey! I need to get back to my boys. I need to tell you what I want from you! I need to know what the deal is and decide if I want to agree to the terms.' He licked the blood off his finger and cursed inwardly. He'd done everything backwards in his rush to get it sorted. There was no need for them to give him anything now. Absolutely no need at all. They could take from him and then still demand that the carried out their orders. He ran his hands over the soft silk of the sarong he was wearing and wanted to tear it off and rip it to shreds just to show them how annoyed he was.

'We are in consultation. You will get on your knees and wait.' The many voices told him.

'Well… fu…. Damn… shit.' He stopped talking before he said more, but dropped easily to his knees. He placed his hands on his thighs and sighed.

'Can you give me a hint of how long this will take? I need to…'

Something invisible wrapped around Floyd's face. It slipped into his mouth and over his tongue, pressing it down… something wrapped around the back of his head and snapped into place. Floyd's hands went to his mouth to feel and found that he was in some kind of gag to stop him from talking. A vicious medieval way to stop nagging wives from – well from nagging. It rendered him speechless in more than one way. How dare they do this to him! What the fuck did they think they were doing? He was Isgar-Quenell! He was a fucking god! – OK…not a god, but almost there. He was as good as there and they _dare_ to strap a mystical and invisible scolds bridle on his face? They would not get away with this shit. He'd come back and kill the lot of them. He'd enter hell and destroy the mother fuckers! He could! He was better than all of these fucking arseholes! He could do what the bloody well wanted!

'Coercion.' The voices bellowed at him. Floyd wanted to ask _What the fuck?_ But stayed on his knees in silence. 'Do you have another talent you'd like to be returned to you?' Yes he did. Floyd stood up and was told to get back to his knees and answer the question or they'll decide for him. The bastards. He'd not lost Coercion anyway… That talent was with him still. They were giving him something he already had. The fucks… 'The ability to change your genetic profile.' His DNA he assumed they meant and that _had_ been very useful when leading a life of crime, but it still wasn't one he was desperate to get back. 'Are you happy with these?'

They wouldn't help him to get Spencer back. They wouldn't help him to get Sam back… but apart from shaking his head there was nothing he could do. He stayed on his knees in silence.

'You will be returned. You will do what you said you would do. Destroy Iolanda – again – and rescue your fuck and your cunt. Then you will return here and get your rewards. Until then you will remain as you are. If you fail to return here we will come and get you. We hope that you understand the rules.'

Floyd nodded.

He heard a sigh from behind him. A sound which was very much like disappointment, but before he could turn to see what was there he was falling and being grabbed and pulled back into his cocoon of grass and weeds. The gag was gone, but Floyd had an idea that it was a symbol of something else.

'You weren't born stupid.' That was The Old Woman.

'No, I just caught it. Must have been bitten by the stupid bug at some point.'

'How can you have made such a mess of a situation you didn't need to be in?'

'Old Woman, I admire, respect and maybe even love you in a strange twisted way, but just fuck off will you. I wish to sulk in private.'

Floyd spent the rest of that day sulking. He sulked under the grass and then sulked as he walked over the mud and grass to the gate. He sulked further when he realised that he had a long walk ahead of him. That was fine, but it seemed like a waste of time. He needed to work out what happened to him after he got shot. He knew _who_ had done it, but not why… though Floyd killing him once possibly was a good enough reason. How many times could they go around killing each other and never doing it properly? He'd been sure that when Iolanda took Rosa and then he'd killed Iolanda that it was the end. Since then he'd sacrificed Rosa so really it had all been one huge waste of time… however, now he had this crap to contend with.

He jogged along the grass verges with his clothes caked in mud and blood and with bits of brain and bone chips stuck to his back. Floyd wasn't a happy bunny. Floyd was a very angry and very lonely bunny. He ducked under a low branch from a tree the other side of the ditch which ran along the side of the road and thought about sending Spencer a message again. He crouched and pulled up bits of grass and nibbled on some of it and wondered if it was a good idea. If Iolanda had Spencer then there was risk that messages would be intercepted. Floyd closed his eyes and thought on the matter for a while and then stood quickly, smacking the top of his head on the low branch.

'Rossi will help me.' Floyd muttered as he rubbed at his head. 'I can't do this shit alone. I've got to use Rossi. Of course had I not sent Hotchner into a downward spiral I could have called on him, and even Derek had I not killed him. Emily.' Floyd's hands dropped to his side. 'I was a fool and I carry on being foolish! Emily!' He started off at a jog again thinking of Emily's sweet arse and he let out the occasional whoop of happiness. He had it sorted. He'd made (he thought) the right decision. He'd involve Emily and maybe Dave too if Ems didn't co-operate, but Floyd was sure that all he had to do was offer to stuff her and she would follow him like a donkey would follow a carrot.

A scrunching of gravel. Car tyres. 'Hey!' A voice. Floyd turned and looked at two cops standing there.

'Hey!' Floyd walked towards them. His lift had arrived.


	64. Chapter 64

64

The cops didn't like the look of the thing they'd pulled over to talk to. He was filthy, looked drunk or doped up, and he stank of the grave. This place was a long way from anywhere. You didn't see people just wandering along the road, but since the incident with the Fed and the car burning they'd made a point of driving down this back lane at least once a day.

'You got a name, mister?' One of the cops with a hand wavering near a gun asked.

Floyd smiled and put a hand out to shake, but the cop shook his head and stepped back out of the way. 'I've a name.' Floyd informed the cop as he lowered his hand and got ready to dodge bullets. 'I need to get back to the town.'

The other cop had walked a wide circle around Floyd and was now back at his partner's side with a frown on his face. 'Where have you walked from?'

Floyd now thumbed over his shoulder. 'Back there aways. A field.'

He watched the two cops glance at each other and then the first one spoke again. 'Can you come over here please and empty your pockets?'

Oh for the love of fuck! Floyd sighed and took a few steps towards the car. 'I'm not armed.' He told them.

'Well let us be the judge of that.'

'For sure.' Floyd answered and emptied the few damp things he still had in his pocket onto the hood of the car. 'That lighter… I want that back, you can have the other shit.' And shit seemed to be what it was… damp leaves, bits of twigs, some squashed and mouldering bits of mushroom. It was all carefully put in little bags though and Floyd was then asked again what his name was. 'Flanders, Floyd Flanders, but I'm warning you mate, that I'm buddies with some Feds so you don't want to fuck me around.'

And it actually looked like he'd surprised them. 'Flanders?' One of them questioned and got a nod back as Floyd watched his few belongings being put in a large envelope. 'I think you should come with us to the station. If you are who I think you are…'

Floyd nodded again. 'Well I just told you who I am, so you can be sure that I am who you think I am. Why would I pretend to be that bastard if I wasn't him?'

'Get in the car sir, and mind your…' The cop stopped talking as he moved behind Floyd to make sure he didn't bang his head. 'What's that over your back?'

Floyd stood up straight from the slightly bent over position he'd been in, ready to get in the car. 'I dunno, you tell me. If it's on my back I'm not really able to tell you. What does it look like it is?'

And so Floyd was told to strip off his clothes. They had a blanket he could wrap around himself but the clothes had tiny chips of bone and other dried in stuff on the back. It also looked as though he had stuff stuck in his hair. He was handed a large plastic evidence bag and told to put it over his head and keep his hair covered. Floyd looked a sight, but he didn't really care right now. Emily… sweet Emily with her lovely smells… well she was going to have to wait. It was Rossi he needed to come to his aid now. Floyd was feeling slightly confused and his head was throbbing and after sitting in the back of the car with the cops sitting in the front for over half an hour, he was feeling sick and his head was pounding horribly.

'I should tell you that I'm car sick.' Floyd spoke in a muffled woozy voice. 'And I've about reached tolerance levels for now. Can I have a puke bag or maybe you can pull over?'

They did pull over, but they didn't let Floyd out of the car. They handed him a bag to throw up into and then they sealed it and placed it with other things. Both cops gave each other worried looks. They had both clearly seen that Floyd had just puked up something black and slimy. That wasn't normal vomit. Not even close.

Now he was sitting, looking miserable and pissed off behind a desk. It was not that as much as the all in one orange thing they'd given him to wear. His protestations that he'd sooner go naked than look like he was some lame fuck who worked sweeping up runways at an airport didn't have much effect on their decision. They soothed his annoyance with coffee and a donut and then soothed it further by informing him that his name had been flagged when they put it into the system and Agent Rossi was on his way to see him. In the meantime they told him that his clothing had been taken for tests at the lab… as had his puke. For now they wanted to ask him a few questions. They were waiting for Rossi, and they'd take the time between now and then to get as much information out of this very strange man as they could.

'Why were you walking down the road?'

It was a stupid question. It got a stupid answer. 'Out of necessity. A long while ago when I was something other than what I am now I could have unfurled and drifted angelically across the fields. However life and death took a sore turn and now I am without wings. Walking seemed to be the next best option. I considered swimming down the river, but the weight of my clothing might have pulled me under. It didn't seem like the best idea. So yeah… I walked.'

The cop didn't look happy. 'Is your smart mouth the reason you're in trouble with the Feds?'

A small muscle at the corner of Floyd's eye twitched. 'Who said I was in trouble? You've made a silly assumption. I'm not in trouble with them. I was working with them. What lead me to the current situation isn't any of your fucking business.'

'What were you doing out there alone? You've been missing for weeks.'

'Don't have to fucking tell you a damned thing and you know it, so please don't ask unless it's not connected to the case.' Floyd felt smugly tired and _that_ was going to be one of the things he was going to ask for… 'I wanted to never sleep again.' He suddenly blurted out. 'Sleeping is so fucking dangerous. You are never more vulnerable than when you sleep. Your muscles relax. Your brain slows down… I guess you're also in a pretty dangerous situation if you're buried alive too… or hung… or decapitated, but sleeping which is something which comes so naturally to everyone… damn.' Floyd drummed his fingers on the table. 'And eating… I used to eat just so that I'd not look out of place and now I actually get hungry. That's a bitch. You'd not understand that if you'd never been what I am… or was.' His stomach rumbled. 'Cheese sandwich maybe? And then there's this damned temperature shit… the breathing under water lark… and a lark that surely was. I survived The Mary Rose, though who would believe such a thing… only a handful of poor sods made it out of five hundred and I plummeted from the forecastle and hit that water with my lovely red brigantine and sunk to the bottom. Horrors. It was a horror. Not very deep there you see… and I saw the people I'd been standing with a few minutes earlier - falling by me with their dead faces and shocked expressions and I just floated myself to the bottom and walked away. Who would believe that?'

'No one.' The detective said. 'Maybe we can stick to reality and not fantasy. Where were you last week? I think that's a good place to start.'

Floyd smirked. 'In Hades. I was there for a visit. I ate Az.'

There was silence for a short while and then the detective leaned forwards slightly over the desk. 'Hades? Az? What sort of dish is Az?'

'A very bland one.' Floyd replied. 'Once tried… never to be had again. How long till Rossi gets here?'

'Not long.' The detective stood. It was maybe a mistake trying to question this man. He was bonkers. What the Feds wanted with him he didn't know, but it couldn't be for anything good. The detective suddenly felt very uncomfortable sitting in this room alone with Flanders. He should have back up with him. 'I'll get you a sandwich.' And he left the room quickly.

Floyd smiled at the door as he heard the lock click over. It seemed that he'd spooked the man. It happened a lot. They ask for truth and when you give it they don't like it. Floyd decided that from now on he would lie. See if they like that any better. It was another of his wondrous talents which he like to bring in and sling around willy nilly and have fun. Other times he seemed to lie and not even know he was doing it. He'd been telling a hell of a lot of truths recently. Time to change tactics. The sandwich arrived ten minutes later. This time the detective was accompanied by another middle aged balding man who looked a bit red faced and sweaty. The food and a coffee was handed to Floyd and they all sat down again.

'Maybe we can start again. Where have you been this past week?'

'I was camping out under the stars. No law against that.' Floyd pulled the sandwich apart much the same way as Sam would do and inspected the contents.

'Did you know that Agent Rossi was looking for you?'

'Sorry, I can't talk to you about that. Ask me something I can answer.' He prodded the bread crust and picked a bit off.

'Were you aware that you'd been reported missing?'

Floyd looked up at the detective and shook his head. 'Ask me something I can answer.' He told them again.

'Can you tell me where you were camping? The area has been searched many times for the missing people.'

The sandwich was pushed away and now Floyd leaned forwards over the table. 'Missing people? I think this is getting too close again to things I cannot answer. So you just fuck off and I'll wait for the Feds. I'll happily discuss this situation with them.'

Both men stood and again left the room with the door locked behind them.

An hour later… after Floyd had paced and kicked at things and complained to the camera which he knew was watching him, the door opened and Rossi walked in. There was deep relief on Rossi's face and maybe even a bit of happiness on Floyd's too. Both sat down. Both looked worn out and tired. 'They took my fucking clothes and combed shit out of my hair.' Floyd complained. 'They have no damned right. I've done nothing wrong.'

Rossi could see the dirt on Floyd's skin and behind his fingernails. He could see Floyd's filthy matted hair, but that wasn't important. 'Where have you been?'

Floyd held his hands out palms upwards. 'True or lies? What will you find most comforting?'

'Truth.' Rossi spoke gently. It looked as though wherever Floyd had been it hadn't been much fun.

'Very well. Iolanda shot me. I fell into the grave we'd opened and… and Anthony was there. He gave me his bones and sent me to hell as he covered me over. Do you know where Spencer and Sam are?'

Dave sat looking at Floyd and waiting for those little signs that the man was lying again. He shook his head and rubbed at his beard. 'I'll tell you what happened from my perspective, shall I? Someone started the car. I began to run in that direction. When I looked behind me you had gone. The car though, that was gone too. I found Sam laying at the side of the road.' Rossi shook his head. 'Floyd, he'd been run down. He had been crushed.'

Floyd sat looking at Dave in the eyes. He could smell that the man was telling the truth, but that wasn't possible. Sam had been in the car. He'd been ordered to stay in the car. 'How? Who was driving? Are you trying to tell me that Spencer ran Sam down? You had the keys. Spencer knows how to jump start something doesn't he? Are you saying that Spencer tried to kill Sam?'

'I called for an ambulance. I sat on the grass verge with him. Floyd, no one can survive the injuries Sam took. The vehicle had run over his pelvis. It looked as though his back was broken. He wasn't conscious.'

'He's fine.' Floyd muttered, but now he broke eye contact. 'I just can't believe Spencer would have done that. No more than Spencer would have shot me in the back of the head. Dave, what happened to Sam?'

Dave told Floyd about how he'd passed out and when the medics arrived Sam was gone. He told Floyd that the car was found down the road, a burnt out hulk. He told Floyd that Sam and Spencer were both missing… 'Sam, is presumed dead. As for Spencer…?' Now it was Rossi's turn to show the palm of his hands. 'There's been no trace of him. There was no evidence retrieved from the car, but there was a hole punctured in the side. It's hard to tell what caused it, but it was low down in the rear door. It's not possible to tell if it was a round from a gun, there's too much damage done by the fire. There's no evidence to be had. What they did tell me was that the trunk of the car was open and it didn't seem to have our bags in the back. Someone took them.'

'Spencer?'

'I didn't say that. If a round had been fired at the car it would have taken the passenger in the lower leg.'

'Was Sam… had he been?'

Rossi shrugged. 'Honestly I wasn't looking too hard. Both of Sam's legs were broken… shattered. There was a lot of blood Floyd. A hell of a lot of blood.'

Floyd leaned back on his chair. 'Well shit. Spencer didn't do that. He'd not do that.'

'I believe you're right. So…'

'Iolanda and his men. Why though? I can understand maybe them… no I can actually. Why do that?' Floyd stood up now and started pacing again. 'Sam was not dead.'

'No… Sam was not, but Floyd… it would have taken a miracle.'

Floyd snorted a laugh. 'I can see why… I can see it now. The motherfucker. None of this was meant to kill me or Sam or even Spencer, it's just a fucking wind up. Sam's going to be all right. He got his miracle… I can promise you that at least. I know he's alive. I don't know what sort of condition he's in. He has or had a bad back…in pain… scared. Spencer… not so much the deadly pain but enough to let me know it was happening. Why play this game though? Why fuck around like this? If it's a lure to get me in, why shoot me in the first place?'

'Where would Iolanda be hiding out?' Rossi asked Floyd. 'And how do you know he's alive?'

'You mean how do I know Sam is alive? I would know if he wasn't. I would feel it here.' Floyd placed a hand over his chest and then pressed a finger between his eyes. 'It's like an invisible cord connecting us. Spencer too. All I have to do is follow it. The trouble is that I'm not feeling too well and those fucks have my clothes.'

'Trace have your clothes. There is still an investigation being conducted into the disappearance of Reid and Trent. There was one looking into your disappearance too, but we can shelve that one now. It's good to see you again.'

Floyd nodded and pressed the heel of his hands against his eyes. 'You know for certain that I didn't hurt my boys.'

'I do. There will be no problem concerning that. They will want answers to what was found on your clothing.'

'Anything like blood and shit… and stuff… that is all me.'

'And finding that amount of blood… and bone fragments? I was told there were bits of bone in your hair and on your collar and back.'

'It'll be mine. The thing is Rossi, that they will see that… they will know that it's mine and they wont be able to explain it. It's going to confuse them. We need to leave. There will be no evidence anywhere that I've hurt anyone other than myself. Can I see that puncture mark on the car? Can I see any evidence? Can I even be involved? Stop shaking your fucking head! They're my boys! I need to help.'

Rossi understood this and he was prepared to allow Floyd to assist, but not whilst on camera. 'I'll see about getting you another set of clothes to wear for now. There's something else interesting I want to talk to you about. As you know your name is flagged on our system. It's been flagging you a lot recently. At first we assumed what was going on was your doing, but then realised that it was a fraud. The people involved have disappeared but yesterday it happened again.'

'What?' Floyd snapped.

'Properties all over the USA are being sold. Properties belonging to you.'

'Sold? Like that field was sold?'

'The field and the lands around it were a compulsory purchase from the State. The others are being sold to private individuals or handed over to charities to sell. You've turned into a very philanthropic man, Flanders. Hundreds of millions of dollars have gone to various research projects, rehab centers for drug and alcohol abuse, child welfare agencies, and an old hospital has been transferred into your name after donations to a mental health facility… apparently you are going to create the worlds most modern and safe place for abused teens to go to… for treatment and to live if necessary. We do know that it wasn't actually you. It was someone acting for you.'

'I've bought a loony bin? What the fuck? What have I sold? Not Spencer's place…'

'A cabin in Montana, an apartment in San Francisco, a motel complex in Vegas. Houses, apartments, tracts of land. Now what I need to do with you is get you to court and have your land reinstated, but that will cost you and the money gained from this has disappeared.'

Floyd shook his head. 'Iolanda will have it. The motherfucking shit. We have to find him. In the meantime I want the sale of the lands stopped. Keep the hospital… I've owned one before…might still, not sure about that, but we can keep that. I fancy being that guy people look at and adore. It's so much better than being spat on. I'll need a map of the country and dots on it where all my sold properties are.'

'Can we deal with Spencer first?' Rossi asked.

'We will be. Get the map sorted. Get me some clothes and get my lighter back. It's going to be good working with you, Dave. I think you're a cunt, but you're an OK cunt.'

o-o-o

Spencer was collected the following day and taken to see what Iolanda wanted to show him. The men who came for him led him down through a track in the woods at one side of the encampment and then out onto farmland. It stretched ahead of Spencer, slowly crawling up a slight slope and then disappearing. Iolanda stood smiling, Sam was at his side on his knees with his head down. Spencer just glanced at the man and then looked back at the black, blue and yellow bruises over Sam's back. It looked as though he'd been kicked, but the skin wasn't broken, which was a small blessing. Spencer stood with his arms across his chest and his hands on his shoulders, gently rubbing at his shoulder joints with his finger tips. He walked over to Iolanda, now trying not to look at Sam.

'Amazing isn't it?' Iolanda said to Spencer. 'It was waste land. Old scrub. We've cleared a lot of it out now. The land is now being cleared of rocks and heavy stones. They're being used on the north side to construct a low barrier wall.'

Amazing wouldn't have been the words Spencer would have used. Slave labour might have been though. The area was scattered with people on their knees plucking things from the ground and tossing them into a barrow. Others were wheeling barrows away towards what did seem to be the north.

'What do you plan on growing?' Spencer asked. Farming wasn't his favourite subject. It wasn't something he was all that up on.

'Corn… fields of corn. We will be able to sell at market and the people will feel great satisfaction from seeing their hard work being used for such things as new awnings and tents.'

'Awnings and tents.' Spencer repeated thoughtfully. 'It's a lot of hard work for a few tents when I'm sure your staff could make more money from dealing with the old cars you have piled up. Did you purchase this land?' He thought probably he hadn't… and was surprised by the answer.

'It was sold at auction last year. It's taken us this long to get the place as far as you can see it. Don't you just love it?'

Spencer shrugged and sent a jolt of pain from his shoulders down his back. 'I'm not a farmer, but I can see that if this can grow corn that it'll be a wonderful sight. When do you think it will be ready?'

Iolanda patted Sam on the head as he spoke. Spencer wanted to slap the man's hand out of the way. He saw how Sam flinched slightly. 'It will be ready for next year I hope. I admit that it's taken longer than I thought it would. They come out here every day and each day we get closer to our goal. I plan on having a mighty celebration for the first harvest. Roast a pig maybe. Give the workers an afternoon off. No point in giving them too much is there? They become soft. They become weak.'

'Yes.' Spencer muttered. 'An it is here that I'll be working?' Iolanda smiled and confirmed that plan. 'And what's to stop me from just walking away?'

'The guns. The guards… but mostly your loyalty. I've not had to shoot anyone for a few months now. Admittedly the first few weeks we tried this was chaos! You would have laughed.'

Spencer nodded. 'Yes, I'm sure I would have.'

'We shot four who tried to run and we hung two others who were thinking about it. It served as a warning. Now you weren't there for that, so what I think you need to do is go out there and ask them yourself. Ask them why they don't run.'

'Somehow I don't think they will tell me the truth.'

'Loyalty. Blind loyalty. They love me.' Iolanda now knelt on the ground next to Sam and pulled Sam's hair up so that he was looking up into Iolanda's eyes. 'You see this, Spencer? He knows me well. He knows what I'd do. Lovely little thing that he is. And it doesn't seem to matter that he's a bit stinky and broken. It doesn't matter that he cries. I know what Sam is as well as he knows what I am.' Iolanda gave Sam a lip crushing kiss and then pulled away. Sam's head dropped again and his shoulders shuddered slightly. 'He's a whore. But I can't take money from people who have nothing. It's the same shit being handed around. Nothing new. The people want cash in their hands.'

'Cash, to pay for whores?' Spencer asked.

Iolanda wiped his hand over his mouth and then licked his lips. 'What more can a man want?'

'Freedom.' Spencer told him. 'What do you plan on doing? Giving people who have nothing, money?'

'No. I will exchange for tokens. They will work for tokens. Not money. I can't give them money. Are you stupid? But it will work here the same as cash. I can't give them something they can use elsewhere.'

Spencer nodded and looked again across the field. 'Why does it matter? If the people are blinded by loyalty then it's irrelevant. They will stay if there is real money in their hands or tokens. You don't trust them as much as you think you do. The armed guards wouldn't be out there if you did. This isn't a commune, Iolanda. It's more like a prison camp. If there _is_ loyalty to you, it's Stockholm Syndrome. It's false. It's not real.'

It was Iolanda now who shrugged. 'Does it matter? It all comes to the same thing. Do you want to go and talk to the workers?'

Spencer shook his head. 'Not now. I'll talk to people later back at the camp. I don't want to get them in trouble for disrupting their work.'

'Good. Good answer. Later then, around the fire… we will talk.' Iolanda now turned and started to walk back through the trees. Sam followed at his heel. Spencer now turned to one of the guys who brought him out here to see the expanse of dirt and stones.

'Can I ask you what you think of this?' He enquired of the one with a squint and six fingers on one hand.

He nodded and did a small half smile. Spencer wondered if the other side of the man's mouth worked as it was pulled down in an odd expression of distaste. 'I'm not a farmer. I don't know.'

'I mean about this whole place. Iolanda… the people.'

'What do I _think_ of it? Mister, look at me. I'm a freak. I'd show you the scar on my side where I had the extra arm removed. Who the hell would employ me? No one wants someone with a face like this looking at them every day. Here… here it don't matter one jolt. It's not a problem. Everyone is equal.'

'Except for Iolanda.'

'He works hard to maintain this place. I don't begrudge him a thing. I'm safe from abuse here. Safe from being spat at. Safe from hunger. Every day I eat from the communal food bowl. We are a family, mister and you ask what I think of it? I think that if you are going to cause trouble then you're going to find a lot of people lining up to rip the flesh from your bones.'

Spencer opened his mouth to tell the man that disfigurements wouldn't stop him from being employed. There is such a thing as equal rights. He could sue someone for refusing him work, and then he decided not to. He nodded. 'I'm glad you've found somewhere where you fit in.' Amongst the filth and the stink. Who the hell would rather have this? It made no sense. There was something which Iolanda had said which gave Spencer a small bit of hope. He'd purchased the land. There would be a record of that somewhere. All he needed now was for someone to connect some backwater land sale with Iolanda and then connect that with Rossi… or Floyd… hopefully not just Floyd. He would come in shouting and swearing and making demands and end up as the pig on the spit. Spencer had a feeling that the _pig_ Iolanda had said about, wasn't of the pork variety.

As Spencer turned he caught the eye of a young man standing topless and sweaty in the field. He had straggly brown hair and a body that looked like it belonged to a sportsman or someone who had spent a good deal of time recently picking stones and rocks out of the ground. His skin was lightly tanned, his eyes narrow and calculating and he was wearing loose fitting pants which were ragged and frayed around the bottom. They reached mid shin level. He looked hard at Spencer and with a quick and hardly noticeable gesture, flicked a finger in the direction Iolanda and Sam had gone. He then turned his back on Spencer and got back to work. Spencer could see the rippling muscles in this young man's back. He could also see through the tan of the skin and the sweat and dirt, a few pale lines of scar. He'd been whipped too. Spencer stood looking for a moment and then turned and looked at the guys who had brought him here. 'I should go back.'

He was taken to a small caravan where he was told he could live for now. 'Don't think that the boss thinks you deserve luxury. It's because he don't trust you to be in the dorm. He thinks you'd rape the children and animals. This is to keep you away… It's a mark of distrust, not of favour.'

That didn't bother Spencer at all. He was happy to be out of favour if it meant he had his own bed and his own space for a while. It was a shabby space with a bucket in the corner to piss in and a jug of water to wash in and drink out of, but the bedding was clean and there were even pyjamas to put on. They were actually his sleeping boxers and a vest top. His own. They were folded on the bed with a towel and a tooth brush and a small printed note with said _Welcome Friend… Please accept these gifts as a token of friendship._ Friendship? It was Sam's toothbrush and the rest of the things were his own. He looked at the toothbrush and sighed. This meant that Sam wasn't being given the chance to clean his teeth. Sam was one who loved to be clean and fresh and smelling lovely. This wasn't going to be pleasing the young man.

Spencer went to the communal breakfast and had bacon, eggs, fried bread and beans. He also had hot sweet coffee and a cigarette was offered. Spencer took it and rolled it between his thumb and finger before slipping it between his lips. No one chatted to him. They talked amongst themselves but there wasn't anything interesting being said. It was talk of children and farming. He helped clear up after the food, but the women told him to go away and make himself useful somewhere else. Cooking and cleaning was a woman's job, as was child care. They told him this as though he was stupid. There was no sign of Iolanda and everyone had gone back to their jobs once the food and coffee was gone. A man with grey hair was bent down unbuckling his sandal. Spencer stopped next to him and asked a couple of questions. 'Was this breakfast put on to impress me? Do they actually think this is all they are worth? Are the children educated?' The man's watery grey eyes looked carefully at Spencer.

'The new student.' He gave Spencer a gap toothed smile. 'That breakfast is the same each day, but the Friday where we have specials. We are never starved here, lad. The women provide food for the men. Is that so strange?'

'It's a slightly old fashioned attitude to have. Out dated. Women should not automatically be delegated to the kitchen and nursery.'

The old guy nodded and smiled again. 'You're maybe right, but it works here. Children are our future. What more important job is there than to be the one who gives birth and raises that child. They are responsible for that. It's a great trust don't you think? The children are educated. They study what is needed to be studied. If they farm, then they study that. If they are merchants then they study money and stuff…me? I make sure everything is working. That the electricity is running, that the bits and pieces are all in line.'

'Electricity?'

The man clapped Spencer on the shoulder. 'What do you think powers the fence? Fairies?'

Spencer winced. 'Of course. I was thinking I've seen no electric lighting.'

'Then you don't open your eyes much do you? We have lights around the fences. We have lights in some of the homes. Iolanda has coffee machine and a toaster in his place. He doesn't cook with it.'

'He doesn't?'

'Naa – He uses it to punish. So look out for that. If you see him with his toaster he's about to cook some fingers.' The man kissed the back of his own fingers. 'Good day lad.' He said with a smile and walked off.

o-o-o

Sam watched Spencer from under his curtain of hair. He wanted to scream at him to do something, rescue him from this and make it all better. Iolanda was doing horrible things to him and he needed it to stop. He'd woken up sore and miserable again. The main pain was gone, but Iolanda was taking money from people now and leaving them with Sam. He was being pimped out. What a lovely life.

By day, a filthy rat-dog.

By night, Iolanda's cunt for sale.

Then Sam saw someone he thought he recognised. It confused him because the face was right, but the place and time was completely wrong. He'd seen this person somewhere else. It brought back memories of castles and the cold and riding horses through the woods, but this was totally wrong. It must be someone else. Sam watched this person all the time Iolanda was talking to Spencer. If this guy was here, then some very serious shit was going on. Iolanda could twist time… only this wasn't just twisting it, this was virtually raping time, space… everything. That man shouldn't be there. He saw his glance up at him and then away again and then Iolanda was walking away and Sam had to go with him. Damn this! It was one of the farmboys and getting close enough to confirm his horrible suspicion wasn't going to be easy. Though Iolanda said what good workers they were and how loyal they were, he'd not mix with them socially. The chance was very slim. Slimmer still because Sam wasn't permitted to eat with the people. He had to eat out of a bowl on the floor… without the use of his hands. It was OK. Sam had lived like this for many years before. It was almost comforting to be able to do it again. Iolanda's voice was almost comforting… but only almost.

Spencer sat and had his dinner. It was a bowl of stew with a hunk of bread. There was cheese and pickles too if he wanted them. The food was good. The meat was not fatty, the vegetables had been cooked properly. Whatever else Spencer could moan about, the food wasn't one of those things. A movement next to him as he sat there on a log which was part of a circle around the huge fire and a bit of bread was handed over. Spencer was about to say something when he realised it was the young tanned man from the field that morning. Spencer didn't say anything, but took the bread.

'I was told that you came in with the dog.' The man gestured towards Iolanda's trailer.

Spencer nodded slowly and pulled some of the soft white fluffy bread out of the middle of the chunk and popped it into his mouth.

'Do you know him or were you just brought here on the same day?'

Now Spencer turned to look at him. 'And what business is that of yours?'

'None.' He pursed his lips at Spencer and sighed. 'I just thought I knew him. He looked… well familiar.'

Now Spencer wondered if this man was chatting him up. He shook his head at him. 'I'm not interested.' And that was maybe the wrong thing to assume because he got a very odd reaction. The man sat back down again and snatched the bread out of Spencer's hand.

'I was trying to buy information, not your backside. If you wont tell me his name I'll find out from someone else, but don't you _ever_ think that I'm a cheap whore who will sell myself for a crust of bread. People like you disgust me. You're filth… but filth or not, I need to know if that's Sam or if I'm imagining it. If you can't help then goodbye.' Again he made to leave, but this time Spencer grabbed his hand and pulled him down to sit.

'You know Sam? How?'

The young man smirked. 'That's the strange thing. I have weird dreams and Sam is in them, but we're not here. He… he does something to me… something which is seen by someone else. I'm disgraced. I hate Sam. I hate him with the whole of my heart, but right now I need to know that is him, because if it is, then Floyd can't be far away.'

Spencer just started at this man. Another lost love? Which one was this? 'You and Floyd… you were…'

'Please… for goodness sake!' Again he tried to get up and again Spencer pulled him back down again. 'Sam molested me. Flanders took me on as a servant. I worked for him. That was all.'

'Where… in America?'

'No… I don't even think it was this world… it was somewhere else. But I don't think I'm the only one. I've seen others giving Sam odd looks. I don't know what's going on here, but I don't much like it. Is Floyd on his way? Is he part of this? Has he brought us all here for a reason?'

Spencer shook his head. 'I'm sorry but I have no idea what you're talking about.'


	65. Chapter 65

65

Sam had a plan. It was clear in his mind that Spencer was not going to help him and it was clear that Iolanda was going to continue to be a bastard, at the first chance Sam got he was going to kill himself. He could run off and get shot, but that was Iolanda dealing with the punishment, not him self. Sam wanted to take the control out of Iolanda's hands and do it himself. Thus as he crawled around on the ground he looked around for bits of broken glass or anything small and sharp that he could quickly grab and slice his own neck with.

He'd seen Albion Black the day before Spencer met them out at the fields. Iolanda had taken Sam there to show him and standing right there just twenty foot away from him was young master Black. This wasn't good news. This was horrible news. Not only did Albion hate Sam with every fibre of his body, but Albion couldn't possibly have been here.

Had it just been Alby, Sam would have put it down to some odd rebirth, because as far as Sam knew the Albion Black _he_ knew was dead, but strangely it wasn't by Floyd's hand. Floyd had actually tried to stop it happening. However, it wasn't just Alby who Sam recognised. Sam had been sitting under a sickly looking tree, picking dirt out from behind his toe nails, when a large stone smacked into the ground in front of him. Sam looked up expecting to see Iolanda and saw instead something which made Sam want to piss himself. He sat with the fingers of one hand wrapped around his picked, sore toes and the other pressing against his bladder. The two young men glared into each other's eyes, neither one wanting to be the one who broke and looked away.

'I thought it was you.' The young man spoke in a hiss. 'I'd stamp my foot down on your neck right here if I thought it would do any good, but it wont.' He looked out towards the pile of cars and then back to Sam again. 'So is Floyd on his way?'

Sam licked his sore, cracked lips and slowly shook his head. 'You can't be here. I killed you. You must just look like him.'

'Do you want me to tell you how I died? Will that confirm that I am who I am?' Sam nodded slowly, but now that feeling of wanting to pee had been overwhelmed by the need to puke. 'I was out checking snares, you came up behind me and wrapped a garrotte around my neck. You used a thin bit of wire and you took my head off. It tumbled onto the ground next to the rabbit I was going to get for dinner. I watched you kick out at my body… I watched you.'

Sam let out a long hissing sigh. 'I'm not meant to talk to people. Go away.' But Sam's hand had gone to his neck and was rubbing at his scabby skin. 'And you know why I did that. You planned on doing the same to me.'

'No…' He shook his head slowly. 'I planned on sticking my knife into your genitals and cutting up and up and up until I was slicing you under the ribs. I wanted to gut you. I wanted to see your intestines slip out of your disgusting body…'

'Well, you waited too long.'

'I've another chance now though.'

'Bern…' Sam hissed again almost pleading now. 'At least what I did was quick.'

'Yeah… it was fairly quick, but now I have a second chance.' He lowered his voice now. 'I'm going to stand in your slimy guts, Sam Trent… I'm going to have what I wanted. You're as good as dead.'

'You better run before I start screaming that you're trying to escape. A bullet in your head will slow you down.'

The young skinny man who Sam had called Bern, moved back but was smiling. He ran his thumb over his neck and winked. 'Sleep well… you damned mother fucker.' And he turned and walked away.

Sam let go of his toes now and moved so that he was kneeling. He puked and pissed himself and then puked some more. Bern was dangerous. He'd known that before and now Bern had nothing to lose and was even more dangerous and now there was even more reason for Sam to try to take control and end this before someone else got the pleasure. Bern was also the perfect person for Iolanda to choose to bring to this place. Bern had been living in a small single storey farm building with his sister and mother, though it turned out that it wasn't his sister and his mother who was dead was probably not his mother. He kept saying that the harvest had failed. He even took Floyd to show the spoiled fields, but they had another friend with them at the time and that friend had once been a farmer and he told them both that the fields hadn't failed. They'd just stopped being tended. There was then the matter of the other small farm houses with the boarded up windows… and the sister who smacked Floyd on the back of the head with a hammer and then tried to strangle Sam… Happy Days! They had been eating their neighbours for years. The failed _harvest_ just meant that they'd run out of people to eat. Brother and sister had a relationship of the kind siblings shouldn't have and eventually the girl died after being smacked with a plank of wood with nails stuck in the end. They had left Bern there alone. Sam especially didn't want Bern there. He'd seen the way Floyd looked at him… he could smell that deep musky smell oozing out of Floyd when he looked at the boy who ate his family. It was driving Sam insane especially after Bern followed them and forced himself to be a part of their group… and yes… Sam had killed him. He would have done it slower if he could have, but the animosity hadn't gone un-noticed and Floyd was enjoying the attention young Bern was giving him… treating him like some damned holy man. The reason Bern hated Sam so much was probably because he survived the attack from the sister. But that was in another place, and another land. That wasn't here! Spencer wasn't a part of that! And so if Spencer wasn't part of that then what the hell were Albion and Bern doing here?

Sam wanted to get a message to Spencer. The two of them were kept apart. He'd not been close enough without Iolanda being around to say anything. He needed to ask Spencer if he did indeed know either of those two. He very much doubted it. The strange thing was that neither of them had been killed by Floyd and Floyd had been angry and maybe upset when he found out what had happened to them… was that the connection. Was Iolanda doing this just to see the look on Floyd's face when he saw some of his failures standing there? Sam glanced around and wondered how many others were here for that reason. How many of these people were victims of Floyd's lack of awareness rather than of his brutish hand.

Spencer had been doing what Iolanda had asked him to do. He walked around the camp and talked to people. They mostly gave the same sort of reply.

'Why would I leave? What is out there which is worth risking this for?'

Obviously the people had been told what to say. Spencer was by no means satisfied with the muttered replies and the shifty looks he was getting, but that seemed to be all he could get out of people. The young man he'd seen around the camp fire wasn't around or Spencer would have confronted him again. He was about to give up and go back to his little home and take some time out when a skinny teenager came over to him.

'You've been asking questions.' He said. 'You can ask me if you want.'

Spencer stifled a yawn but nodded. 'I'm sorry. I'm very tired, but please if you don't mind me asking. If given the chance would you leave this place? Are you happy here?'

A smile spread over the young man's face and it wasn't one which made Spencer feel at ease. It was somehow very creepy… maybe it was the way that smile didn't reach his eyes. 'I'm not happy here. There are too many people. I don't like all the smells. But if the gate was left open and the boss stood there and told me I could leave… would I?' The brown haired lad shook his head. 'No I wouldn't.' And now he leaned closer and spoke in a conspiratorial whisper. 'Not until I've danced in Sam's entrails. Not until I've stuffed his dirty prick down his own throat… Maybe then I'll leave.'

Spencer felt the colour drain from his face. 'You know Sam?'

'Intimately. I'm not the only one either… and none of us like him. Word is spreading like wild fire. We all know that Floyd will turn up to rescue him. We all know that Sam is just the lure to get Floyd here. What we don't know is who the fuck you are? Are you his latest squeeze?'

'I'm… I…' Spencer shook his head. Suddenly he didn't want to admit his connection with Floyd. 'I know him.' He mumbled as his world started to feel horribly constrained. 'I think that Iolanda only allowed me to talk to people because he'd know this would happen.'

'No shit! The man is a genius. Really, though… joking aside – I'm going to kill that fucker, Sam and then we are all going to kill Floyd. If you've got a connection with the mother fucking bastard then you'd best keep that to yourself.'

'I need to go.' Spencer pushed Bern out of the way and walked quickly to this little caravan. Someone had refilled the jug of water. The bed had been made up. A change of clothes had been left for him… and some wag had put a chocolate mint on his pillow.

o-o-o

Floyd and Rossi sat in a motel room with a map spread out over the bed. Rossi was reading off locations and Floyd was swearing and cursing, but marking the place with a red dot. 'I loved that old place.' Floyd mumbled as Dave gave him yet another property which had been sold off at auction.

'When were you last there?'

Floyd shrugged. 'Fifty years maybe, but that doesn't mean I liked it any less.' Floyd had been kneeling on the floor but now he sat back on his heels and shook his head.

Rossi knelt on the floor next to him and raised an eyebrow at the map. 'You have something there?'

Floyd nodded. 'A fucking headache from looking at all those dots.' He pushed his hair behind his ears and turned to look at Rossi. 'I don't think there is a pattern here. It's random shit. Spencer or Sam might be able to see some damned fucking maths equation there but it means nothing to me at all. I'd suggest handing it over to your computer nerd, but really I think this was just to get my attention. The field where I had the graves and now this. Through all of this though something good will come. I _will_ shock you all and set up that hospital. Am I going to get my money back from this stuff… I'm not, so no point in whining on about it.' Floyd paused. 'Though when has there being no point in something stopped me. I can't fucking believe that arsehole sold that riverside place! And the fucking boat… He's going to be so damned sorry. On the other hand I'd forgotten I had it so maybe it's just something to remind me of what I liked. I can see me living on a river cruiser. I could do that.'

Rossi shook his head and stood up. 'I thought you got sick when on water?'

'Well yes… that's the reason I abandoned it! Thank you. You just saved me making the same mistake again.' Floyd smiled a tired smile, but it was more the sort of tired you get when you're _really_ pissed off about something. 'I need to take a stroll and have a smoke. Want to join me? Bring one of those foul cigars of yours.'

The outside of the small motel was a parking lot with yellowing grass around the edges. A small white fence divided the lot from the sidewalk and then a not very busy road. The pair of them walked the hundred foot to the small fence and lit up their smokes. For now they stood in silence. 'Tell me all you know about him.' Rossi said. 'Where would he be? Where would he live? What does he want? What's his aim in life, I don't mean with what he's done recently, but his over all goal.'

Floyd sucked hard on the cheroot and blew the smoke out of his nose. 'He loves power. He likes to have compounds with followers. He likes to have people bow and scrape and they do. They don't dessert him, Dave. Whoever he has with him is loyal unto death. What bothers me is that he brought Anthony back. He was real enough that day. Maybe he was there just or that purpose, but that purpose was good enough. The matter that Iolanda was able to do that is bothersome. He must have a base. He can't be doing this out of the back of a truck. I don't believe he's that capable. He has to have an item or person who he is bleeding off… and as this happened before he got his hands on Spencer or Sam then I have no idea who it could be. I _do_ think that he's got somewhere less transient though. He likes this part of the world. He'll be here somewhere, but that little connection I have with my boys has been… well not damaged as such, but Iolanda has put up barriers against it. He wants me to struggle with this… I wonder who else he's brought back? It's sort of an uncomfortable feeling that every man I've fucked and killed is out there waiting to get pissed off with me. That's an unsettling feeling.'

Dave said nothing but looked at Floyd's profile as he stood there in the lowering of the afternoon light. He was admitting to killing people again. He seemed to have no conscience when it came to that. He was happy to let him know what he was. If Floyd was feeling uncomfortable with the idea that these dead people could come back for him, then Dave was feeling uncomfortable that the man he was sharing a motel room with had happily admitted to multiple murders.

'He wouldn't like the cops dropping in on him.' Floyd mused. 'If he's set up on a semi permanent basis he would have purchased land – with my money, no doubt.'

Rossi raised an eye brow. 'It's a start. You don't think he's just squatting on common land somewhere?'

'Nope. I don't. I think as he's been selling of my land he's been buying his own. Why would he? Why would he let me know he'd done that, Dave?'

'Maybe he's not. Let's get back to the room and look into it. There are places we can go to check.'

Floyd nodded. 'OK. I need a drink. I'm fucking parched.'

'You need to be thinking lucidly… not be falling down drunk.'

'There you go acting like a cunt again. And I thought we had an understanding.' Floyd pulled his hip flask out of the blue jeans he had on and winked at Dave. 'Emergency supply.' He waggled the flask at Dave and walked back to the motel room.

A hundred and twenty miles north of where Floyd and Dave stood and smoked, Sam was being dragged from under the tree and told to get his arse back to the trailer. It was night time. There was a chill breeze blowing across the camp. Food was cooking; Sam could smell it and he could hear the chattering of the people as they sat and relaxed. 'I just want…' Sam started to speak. A boot caught him on the side of the face and sent him sprawling.

'You don't talk to me. Never talk to me. You're a fucking cunt! That's all you are and all you've ever been! How long were you with me for? How many years did I train you for?' With each statement or question came a new kick. Sam didn't try to get away, but he wrapped his arms around his head and brought his knees up to try to protect himself the best he could. 'You are with that _fuck_ Flanders for a few years and you've forgotten all I showed you. All those hours of training wasted.' More kicking and now grabbing Sam's hair and pulling his head out from the protection of his arms. 'Do you want me to smash those dirty teeth right out of your damned mouth? Do you want me to rip your tongue out to stop you talking to me? What's going to stop you!'

'I'll stop _you_.' A voice from behind Iolanda. He dropped Sam and spun on Spencer who had found an iron bar from somewhere and was standing looking like he was going to kill. 'If you lay one finger on him again, so help me I'll die trying to stop you.'

'Spencer no…' Sam muttered as he curled up again into a ball.

'Shut the fuck up!' Iolanda spun again and kicked out at Sam…

…and Spencer swung the iron bar. He knew that Iolanda was going to kill him for this, but he couldn't stand there and watch this any longer. This whole thing was a lure to get Floyd there and Spencer didn't want to be a part of that. If Floyd got caught up here, he didn't want to see it. He didn't want blame placed on his shoulders by Floyd. He'd rather die here than see the disappointment on Floyd's face. He'd rather die protecting Sam and be able to tell Floyd that's what happened… 'May the gods help me.' Spencer murmured as Iolanda stumbled forwards and then spun to look at Spencer. 'Stand away from him. Sam, get to me… now.'

Sam didn't move. Sam dared not move. The outcome of this was going to be painful. He could survive pain… death, not so well. He didn't look at Spencer but he muttered. 'Spencer, no… I want to be here.'

Insanity. Total insanity! But he had a feeling that he knew what Sam meant. Didn't he, Spencer, feel the same about Floyd? Did it matter what sort of abuse he got from him? No… Did it matter if Floyd beat him almost to the point of death? No… it didn't matter. Spencer took a step back and dropped the iron bar. 'So Iolanda, are you going to kill me now or save that for later? I'm ready for you. I'm man enough to take it.'

Iolanda laughed. He put his head back and howled a long hysterical laugh. 'Man enough?' He managed to splutter out. 'All you're able to do is cause pain for the dog… pain for yourself… don't make the mistake of thinking that I'd just kill you because you dared this silly pathetic attempt to get the dog away. You love me don't you Sam?'

'Yes.' Sam whispered.

'You'd not leave me to go with Spencer would you?'

'Why would I want to do that?' Sam's voice wobbled.

'There you go Dr Reid. Tell me, of all the people you've talked to, have any said they'd like to escape?'

Spencer shook his head. 'Not one. But I think they're just scared. I don't believe they really feel like that. I can't believe that.'

'Tomorrow you will work the fields. I think you need a dose of rock picking.'

Reid threw his hands up. 'Why don't you just kill me!'

'Because I can see that's what you want and I'm not going to give you what you want. I'm going to make money from the dog. I've got a breeding programme I'm setting up.' Iolanda put his back to Spencer. 'Hit me again and the guards standing there with guns pointed at you will get word to stop you… I hear belly shots are painful. Dog… get in.'

Spencer watched Sam uncurl and start to move forwards and away.

He thought he would be dead. He thought Iolanda would tear him apart, but Iolanda did nothing. Even after he'd hit Iolanda with an iron bar, he'd done nothing. The frustration was driving Spencer to distraction! He marched to the camp fire and located the young man he'd talked to the day before. He sat next to him and spoke directly into his ear. 'Who the hell are you? How did you get here? Who else is here who shouldn't be and why are you not trying to get away?'

The man turned to look at Spencer. 'I'm Albion Black. Apprentice Soldier in the Great Army. My father was commander Black. He led the men from a black stallion. He was one of the greatest war leaders ever. He had medals of every description and type. I was following him. The youngest son, I could have become a lawyer or priest. It wasn't required that I joined the army. I wanted to start from the bottom. I wanted to know what it was like to be one of the _men_. My brothers had gone in as officers. They could issue orders to men who had come up through the ranks and had been serving for longer than my brothers had been alive. I thought it wrong. I thought I should know what it was like to be a grunt. The king had gone missing with the old king's dog and his man servant. They'd been gone for most of the winter. The king had some kind of malady of the mind. For much of the winter we were called back to quarters and couldn't continue our search, but the men said that if they couldn't get through the forest because of the snow then neither could the king. We would continue when the big melt started, and that's exactly what we did.

'Someone came running out of the woods. I didn't know who it was and I could only see glimpses of him but it turned out to be the dog and the manservant. They said the king was sorely wounded and was resting in an old farm building. We went to get them. It was after that that the dog caught my eye. He seemed vulnerable and weak. I offered him a smoke. I offered him a drink and I don't know what happened, he groped at me. He touched me where a man shouldn't be touched by another… and… and… I liked it. I let him do it. I let him push me against the tree and pull at my clothing. But he was seen. I was seen… I was taken to the king and he got me dismissed from my job. He dismissed my father from his… and from that point on my life was a living hell under the gentle guidance of King Floyd… I've really nothing all that much against him. It's Sam… that's the one who took my life and threw it in the trash. He's the one who did obscene things and was thrown from the castle. He was the one who got me mixed up in his filthy world and it's his fault I was taken and had my throat slit. His fault. And I'll get my revenge.'

Spencer licked his lips. 'But if I knew of a way to get out of here?'

Albion shook his head. 'You don't seem to understand. I am only here so I can get revenge. I don't come from this world. I have nothing to go to. I can't live out there. I don't want to live out there. This is more like the military. I can cope with his.'

'It sounds like you have been conditioned to accept it. You don't have to.'

'Maybe not. I could make a break for it, get a bullet in my back, but why would I bother?'

'Freedom?' Spencer asked.

'I'm not a prisoner. I am free. I can walk from here to the other side of the fields and no one will try to stop me. Why would I go further? No, I don't like the smells here sometimes, but none of us do. Nothing is perfect, but this is close. Leave me alone. I don't want to befriend you and I don't want anything to do with your plans. All I want is to kill Sam, slowly. That's what most of us want.'

o-o-o

Floyd was annoying Rossi. He kept pressing the enter button on the keyboard and flicking through pages before he'd had a chance to see what was on the screen. He kept telling Floyd to slow down. He slapped his hand once when it fluttered over the keyboard. 'Just calm down!' Rossi shouted at him. 'Go and make a coffee or something. I can't make this work faster than it is and you're bogging it down.'

Floyd bounced up from the bed and removed his shirt. There was no reason to do it, except it wasn't his and he didn't like having mixed fibres next to his skin. It made his itchy, snappy, short tempered. 'Look up Franks.' He grabbed a cotton Tshirt and pulled it on over his head.

'I have been.'

'Well do it again! He's got to be there somewhere.' Floyd walked to the small kitchen area and smacked down coffee mugs and filled the small coffee machine. 'This fucking fucked up fuck!' Floyd yelled at the thing which wasn't making coffee fast enough. 'You know I sometimes wonder if you're trying to slow me down. You're not are you?'

'You know I'm not. Another name? We've tried Franks and Iolanda.'

'Franco.' Floyd groaned. 'I thought I'd told you that one.'

Rossi nodded. 'Not since we started… Floyd… I wonder if he's just transferred something.'

Floyd skipped back to the bed where the lap top was. 'Wadya mean Davie?'

Dave gave Floyd a withering look. No one called him Davie. 'He's made a point of selling off your land.'

'Er… yes.'

'What if he transferred some rather than selling.'

'Whatya talking about… you mean he swapped it? Took a lump of my land and swapped it for another which was mine which he then sold and thus avoided having his name come up as property purchased by him? Are you telling me that I own some land somewhere which he is using to keep my boys on and that we will legally be able to walk right on in as I will be the registered owner of the land and not him? And are you suggesting that we will be able to obtain land maps and layouts and even records from the tax office about what is going on there and how many people he has?'

Rossi laughed. 'Exactly. So we need to change the search.'

'To what?... what are we looking for because it wont be in my name….' Floyd trailed off.

'It will be in the name of the original owner and there will be a private record of the exchange. Your name will be on that as someone out there swapped one bit of your land for another. We just have to figure out which it was.'

'I'm confused. Now… if it was a swap and is…' Floyd trailed off again. 'I'm going out and I'm getting a couple of bottles of wine. Either come with me or stay here, but this is doing my head in and I need to get drunk. We can come back to it again tomorrow.'

Rossi smiled. 'There's a small Italian place around the corner. Fancy a meal?'

'As long as you wont throw this in my face at 2am and say it was a date.'

'I can assure you that I wont.'


	66. Chapter 66

66

Rossi tried to gently goad Floyd into having a shower. He seemed to have what looked like caked in blood and other things in his hair. There was also a scabby red mark just above Floyd's right eye, which Floyd kept prodding and picking at. The clothes he'd been given to wear where probably dirtier on the inside than the out. Floyd though for now at least, refused to wash. He also informed Dave that he'd not be sleeping…

'But don't mind me. I'll just sit out side and smoke.'

Floyd intended to do just that. He desperately wanted his ability not to have to sleep back and though fighting the tiredness was going to do the trick. He had to break through the barrier again. It should be easy. In the past, sleep had never even been a thought, and now it seemed it was a necessity. And so he sat outside with grim determination that he'd still be awake and bright eyed in the morning. It was going to have to be that way. He also removed the cheap Tshirt and sat with his blue jeans rolled up to his knees. The evening wasn't warm. The leaves were beginning to turn a bright golden colour. It wasn't the weather to be sitting around all night with no top on.

By three in the morning Floyd was shivering. At least his teeth were chattering and his body was shuddering and shaking, but he would have denied that he felt cold. By four in the morning Floyd was so cold that he couldn't get the cheroot into his mouth or unstopper his flask. He pulled up his knees, crossed his arms over his knees and rested his head. He was still like that at eight o'clock when Rossi came out to look for Floyd. There was a gentle sound coming from him. It was almost a snore, though it couldn't have been… Floyd didn't sleep. Rossi wasn't going to break down that delusion yet. He walked back into the motel room and got ready for the day, not being careful to be quiet. He slammed a couple of doors… threw his over night bag against the main door and then opened that door slightly as he brewed coffee. It was about ten minutes later that a groggy and very cold looking Floyd re-entered the motel room.

Floyd glared at Rossi daring him to say something, but Dave kept quiet about that and broached a different subject. 'You know that you'll get lice if you don't keep your scalp clean.'

'It's nothing to do with the cleanliness of the scalp. Some even say that they prefer clean hair, but lice actually don't give a damn if it's clean or dirty. The longer you leave your hair without washing it, the longer it will eventually stay clean. Constantly massaging your scalp produces oils. The scalp gets used to that and will over oil the hair… eventually causing breakage as the ends dry out because of the harsh chemicals used.'

Dave raised an eyebrow. 'You are using that as an excuse not to wash dried blood and brain tissue out of your hair. Floyd it smells. You smell of decomp. You need to shower and wash your hair. It might be all right for you not to wash if you're living out in the wilds but you're not and I'm having to share a room with you… so if you don't mind…' Rossi tossed over a bottle of Lime scented shampoo to Floyd who caught it on the fly with his left hand. '…it's a body wash too. Make use of it.' He looked at Floyd who was reading the label on the green bottle. 'Are you left handed? I'm sure you write with your right.'

Floyd smirked and looked up at Rossi. 'I use different hands for different things. I don't have a leading hand. Ambidextrous… yet not. I always write with my right, as you said… I always lead with my left… and catch… masturbate with my right, wipe my arse with my left. Pick my nose with my left and fingers the sweet little arses with my left… which means actually that I can comfortable wank and finger at the same time.' He didn't give Dave the chance to say anything, but took the shampoo to the bathroom. Maybe a shower would re-freshen his tired bones and brain and though he'd not admit this to Rossi, his scalp was itching horribly now. When he came out of the shower looking like a new man… a clean man… a man who you'd not cross the street if you saw and maybe even the man who you would follow for a short while trying to get pictures of his butt with your iPhone, Rossi was ready to get back to work.

'Land.' He spoke clearly to Floyd who looked clean but tired. 'A certain Mr. Fisher.'

Floyd thought maybe that there was something wrong with his ears and he stuck a finger in one of them and checked for wax… he couldn't have heard all of what Rossi said, because what Rossi said made no sense. 'Huh?' Floyd picked up a coffee mug and filled it with sugar and warm brown liquid.

'Mr Fisher was the owner of a small tract of land about a hundred and fifty miles north of here. He donated it to an un-named charity a few years ago. His family took him to court over the matter and said they said that Mr Fisher was losing his mind and the land belonged to the family and no him solely. They wanted their land back. They contacted the new owner who didn't wish to be named and they came to an agreement as the person or persons who Mr Fisher had given the land to didn't want to hand it back. He did however offer the old chap something else.'

Floyd knelt on the floor next to the bed and looked with bleary eyes at the map. 'OK… what did the guy get as compensation?'

'Rossi prodded the map…. Keverstone Ranch, Montana.'

There was the sound of air being sucked in between Floyd's teeth. 'And what did Mr Fisher give to Iolanda?'

'Something which was worth a fraction of the price of the ranch he received.'

'Go figure.' Floyd muttered and sipped on his coffee.

'It's a small plot of land, Floyd. There was nothing there except a very small scrap yard which Fisher had stopped using. It's basically a square of land with rusting old cars. At the time the land was given away by Fisher, it had little worth. Since then ten acres of land have been bought next to it. An agricultural license has been applied for. The place is called Fisher's Plot. The land was purchased as part of Fisher's Plot… not in the name of an individual.'

'He paid the old guy off. Took the bit of land he wanted, gave the guy my ranch, purchased more land for farming… why? Why not just move onto that lovely ranch?' Floyd put his mug down and rested his head on the side of the bed. 'That fucker is doing my head in. I don't understand him. What's his fucking game? We have a location? Can we go now?'

Dave took the map from the bed and folded it. 'We can't go today. You need to sleep. You need to eat and you need to be sure that you're not going to go running in trying to kill everything in sight. Last records say that the place is secure, and there are nearly two hundred people living there. I think that's a conservative estimate.'

'The new land was purchased under Fisher's Plot, but who does Fisher's Plot belong to?'

Rossi looked at the limp and knackered thing who looked like he was about to fall asleep. 'The place is called Fisher's Plot. The land next to it was purchased under that name, but… Fisher's Plot it self belongs to you.'

'Me? So I have legal access to the place? I can get them kicked off my land? I can call the cops and ask them to go and get Iolanda and his goons off my land and when they do that I will stand at the gate and watch. I will be able to find Spencer and Sam if they are there. This is good news. And I think though I maybe, possibly took an hour or so sleep last night, that this new found wonderfulness has drained me. I am going to have to admit defeat, Davie and go to sleep.' He crawled up onto the bed, curled up and was snoring before Rossi could tell him that he was going out for breakfast.

o-o-o

The following morning two trucks came into the compound. They were the first that Spencer and Sam had seen and a small, very small, bit of hope warmed Sam's brain. Iolanda walked to the four men who had been in the truck, a driver and passenger in each.

'Sit and stay.' Iolanda snapped at Sam and for once Sam was happy to comply. He sat in the dirt with his back to one of the huge truck tyres and looked through the curtain of matted hair to see if he could see Spencer anywhere.

Spencer was standing with a few workers. Today Spencer was going to be working in the fields and Iolanda wanted to take Spencer down there and hand him over to the foreman for the day, but first the trucks. Sam pressed his back hard against the truck tyre and stared over at Spencer who was looking between Sam and Iolanda and when Spencer's eyes locked on Sam again, Sam gave a quick shake of his head and lifted one of his hands to his nose. He left it there for a few seconds and then lowered it again. Spencer was still watching and Sam knew that Iolanda was distracted by the drivers who were talking something about supplies. Sam pushed his hair off his face and lifted his chin. He took in short sharp breaths through his nose and then sniffed at his fingers again. It was hard for Sam to see if Spencer was understanding what Sam was trying to tell him because Spencer's face was shadowed by the people standing around him. Now Sam moved, he turned his back to Spencer, pulled himself up to his knees and pissed on the truck tyre and wheel. He was just lowering himself down again when Iolanda turned.

Spencer knew that he should stop watching. He shouldn't be showing interest, but Iolanda flew at Sam. Had Spencer not known better he would have sworn that Iolanda's feet didn't touch the ground until he was in front of Sam. He grabbed Sam, one hand under his chin – around his neck and the other pulling up on Sam's hair.

'You dirty son of a bitch! What have I told you about pissing on things? What the fuck have I told you!'

Sam actually couldn't remember being told anything and the pressure of the hand on his neck wasn't going to help he speak if he'd dared to anyway. Spencer moved forwards now… Iolanda was shaking Sam and screaming at him, spitting into his face – shaking him like a dog would shake a rag doll.

'Stop it!' Spencer bellowed the words before he could stop himself and this time Iolanda reacted. He threw Sam to the side where his head smacked on the edge of the fender, splitting the skin above his right eye and smearing blood. 'Why are you doing this?' Spencer moved forwards, or maybe everyone else backed off. 'What is the point of this? What do you want from us!'

The small, sweaty, balding Iolanda marched over to Spencer, his tongue lapping around his wet lips like he was trying to get rid of the taste of something really bad. 'You! You just wont learn will you!'

'Not like this I wont. I don't learn through brutality. I'm not going to bow and bend to you.' Spencer bravely stood totally alone now, his hands were fists at his side. 'If you want to hurt someone, then hurt me! Leave Sam alone.'

Iolanda had reached Spencer now. He couldn't see Sam desperately wiping the blood from his wound off his face and onto the truck… little fingerprints of red were popping up like freakish poppies. Iolanda missed all of that, and Spencer wasn't taking too much in right now either. His anger was at boiling point and if Iolanda wouldn't strike him this time then he was going to try to kill the man now… right here… where they stood.

'I need you to work the fields. Broken people can't lift boulders and shift barrows of rock.'

Spencer brought his still fisted hands up and glared at Iolanda. 'I'm not a farmer. I'm not going to work your fields. I don't respond to bullies.'

'Really? That has surprised me. I thought that was the only thing you every responded to. I thought violence and threats from Flanders was the thing which got your blood racing. I thought one thump from Flanders and your were on your back with your legs over his shoulders.'

And this time the fist swung out. A haymaker of a punch which Iolanda might have been able to avoid, but somehow didn't. Spencer quickly followed that up with a left hook, catching Iolanda on the side of the head and then an uppercut to finish his little flurry.

It was like hitting a slab of concrete. Iolanda didn't move. He didn't even flinch and a string of curse words were now flying through Spencer's mind. Now he defended, because thought the smacks from Spencer hadn't really hurt Iolanda, he wasn't going to let the men see that this was permitted behaviour. In the time it took to smack Spencer off his feet and kick his legs apart so that his booted foot could smash into that sensitive area between Spencer's legs he'd decided not to kill him yet. By now Spencer was a screaming, red faced coward who was trying to back away and get out of kicking range. Now it was all about defence. Spencer kicked out a couple of times but the shorter, fatter and older man was striking faster than Spencer could think. He felt something smash into his mouth… a fist? A foot? Spencer didn't know. He felt his teeth wobble and his lip split. Something cracked into the side of his face which felt as though he'd just been hit by a grenade. The pain was so immense that he thought for a moment that his head had exploded… The world went bright with stars and then slipped into a reddish dripping darkness. He could feel that he was still being hit. He could feel his knees being pounded and his hair was being tugged on and his head was smacked on the ground.

'Don't you raise your hand to me!' It was Iolanda's voice. 'Do you now understand? Get this bastard out to the fields. He needs to know his damned place. He needs to know that any loyalty he has for the dog is misplaced.' Spencer heard the shuffling of feet and then Sam's name being called. 'Piss over it, dog. If you like pissing on things so much… wash the blood off his face. Don't talk to him! Just do it. Show him that you'd piss on him sooner than help him! Show him! Show me who you are loyal to.'

It was a urine soaked, battered, bleeding Spencer who was half dragged to the fields. He was shoved in line with someone else and told to get on his knees and dig by hand through the land which had been very roughly ploughed in some places. He thought that he might have time to think and figure out what Sam was doing at the truck. He thought that he might crawl through the dirt and be left in peace, but that wasn't going to happen.

'Defend Sam and you end up dead. Defend yourself and you'll die. Even look in my direction and I'll accuse you of raising unrest amongst the men. I will be believed.'

It was Albion Black and standing next to him was Bern. 'Do you two know each other? I mean from before here?'

Bern scratched at his head and shook it slowly. 'Not that it's any business of yours. Are you going to start working or am I going to have to start whipping your arse into action. Bern pulled out a long thing leather whip. There were tiny silver coloured bits of metal sewn into the leather along the length of it. 'Iolanda put me in charge of your conduct. He didn't specify if I should let you die or not, but it's not _you_ I want. It's that mother fucker Sam… and I can't get close enough to do what I need… so I might have to take my anger out on you… and Albion here would be happy to hold you down.'

'I've done nothing to either of you. Why are you so angry with me? What have I done?'

'Do you have to have done something? It doesn't work like that. Not usually. Flanders will be pissed off if his boy is damaged. That's the game… and I'm happy to play. No excuses. I don't care if your balls are crushed and you want to puke and cry… I need rocks out of the ground and I'm going to fucking make sure that I get them! Move it!'

o-o-o

Sam sat where Spencer had been beaten and watched the trucks drive out again. He'd done all he could. He'd scented the truck. He'd got his smell outside of the camp. If Floyd was looking for them, he might just pick up on that. He'd surely pick up on it. He didn't want all that to have happened to Spencer for nothing, but it had been a fantastic decoy. Sam had smeared all sorts of body fluids (and solids) over that truck. If that didn't stink enough for Floyd then nothing would. Sam thought that there was some kind of dampening field around this place. It stopped him sending messages or maybe the messages would be picked up. Either way it wasn't wise to try it. Now at least a part of him (a sticky smelly part of him) was on the other side of that barrier. Sam was sad (almost) that Spencer had got hurt, but it would be worth it. Sam was very proud of himself!


	67. Chapter 67

67

Time spent in the field was a very long way from fun. It was hard and sweaty work. The men seemed to get no break from the back breaking graft and nor did they expect any. Spencer had been told that he could talk to the workers, but that chance was gone now. He should have taken the opportunity when it was offered to him. Not only was he shouted at if he stopped to do anything like wipe the blood off his bleeding palms, but if it looked as though he was about to talk to someone small stones began to get hurled at him either by Bern or Albion, both men looked as though they'd received a promotion for this very job and maybe Albion was concentrating only on Spencer for now, Bern was making his presence felt with quite a few people who didn't seem to be working as hard as they should be.

Spencer wanted, on the surface of his consciences to forgive both of them. From what he'd been told, they'd both had sudden and violent ends and both blamed Sam for this, even though Albion hadn't said that it was Sam who actually wielded the weapon that killed him, he blamed Sam none the less. Bern's anger seemed to be at everything and everyone. He strutted around the field snapping his whip on the backs of men and boys if they didn't work as fast as Bern would have liked, Albion just stood with his arms crossed and stared at Spencer.

'You need to toughen up.' Albion Black hissed at Spencer who had stopped to rub his hands on the leg of his jeans. 'I was a soldier. This would have been girls work.'

Spencer said nothing. He didn't even deign to look at Albion to confirm that he'd heard him. Spencer pressed his hands into the small of his back and stretched. This was what was going to cause the most pain… the back ache and the sore hands, the broken and ripped fingernails and blistered feet. The only thing Spencer was grateful for was that the sun wasn't as hot now and though he was sweating quite heavily at least he wasn't burning too. The places on his back where he'd been whipped before were itching and burning. The scarring on his chest from the weapon when he'd tried to escape felt tight. His shoulders felt like they kept locking or freezing.

He could sense, more than see that Albion had come to stand closer. Spencer could hear his hard long breaths, which came out in strange shudders. Spencer didn't look around yet, but it sounded to him as though young Albion Black… the great soldier, might have been crying. Spencer hauled a rock out of the ground, it was about the size of three of his fists. He wondered if he could kill Black just by lobbing it at him, but dropped it into the barrow and then pushed wet hair of his sweaty face and looked at Albion who stood there with his hands in fists at his side and eyes which looked as thought they were staring at something abhorrent.

'I've done nothing to you. I don't even know you. Why are you looking at me like that?'

Albion's head seemed to twitch as though he had a tick, he blinked and shook his head. 'I – I was… was… wasn't looking at y – you.' His voice came out it shuddering sobs.

'You know you can talk to me if there's something bothering you.' Spencer tried, but got a snort of a laugh back.

'You've been hanging around Flanders. Anyone who does that ends up being an absolute bastard. If you're not one yet, you'll turn out to be one. He made promises and broke them. Both of them did and we all died because of him and his inability to step up to the mark and do what he should have done. Had he stayed, had he let them take the dog and had he allowed them to follow the traditions, then none of this would have happened. But Flanders is a stinking coward. Instead of standing there and explaining – instead of showing us the truth, he ran away. The cowardly bastard. He ran away and… and… killed his wife.'

Spencer raised both eyebrows in surprise. None of that really sounded much like the Floyd he knew. Ran away? And as for having a wife? That just wasn't possible. There was the answer. Spencer knew now… it wasn't the same Flanders. That was the only thing which made sense. 'The Flanders I know would never break a promise. He'd never make one which he couldn't keep. He would never run away and he'd certainly never be married.'

Albion Black shook his head slowly. 'I knew him for a long time, Doctor Reid… I know what he's capable of and if marrying was something he felt would bring him luxury and fame then it wouldn't stop him.' Black now stepped forwards slightly. 'But consummating that marriage might be something different, but that's why you looked so surprised. I know… I know that he's almost proud of the fact that he says he'll only have arse… but I also know that he fucks women when there's money involved. He's a dirty whore. He'd sell his dick for…'

Black stopped and looked over Spencer's shoulder at Bern who was now standing there swishing his whip. 'That's no way to talk about someone who can't defend his honour.' Bern spat across to Albion. 'Do you want me to report you for distracting the workers?'

Spencer spun and looked at Bern. His face pale with two splotches of red high up on his cheeks. He looked angry, but it wasn't at Spencer now, it was at Albion. Albion snarled back to Bern. 'You stupid child. How long did you know them for? A few weeks? You have no damned idea what they were and still are capable of… This mutation might not have been there then, but Flanders and Sam were… and I know very well that both of them would see people die, people who _loved_ them die, rather than risk their own skins. The only common ground we have here is that Sam was the catalyst to our deaths. Sam will pay. This thing here is nothing. He really is just something to take my annoyance out on because I can't get to Sam. When I do… when I do…'

'When you do, what ever it is you will try to do, I will try to stop you.' Spencer interrupted. '_That's_ a promise.'

Bern's cheeks seemed to get redder. Angry red flesh started to creep up his neck. Spencer could see the small, fine hairs on Bern's arms trying to stand on end. 'This would have been so much easier if Sam had died when he should have.' Bern spun on his heels now and walked away, shouting at someone taking a piss in a trench.

'Do you know what happened between Sam and Bern?'

'Only that Bern wanted Floyd and Sam was in the way. He's not a very nice bit of work. He looks innocent and young, but he's bad news.'

Spencer looked again at Albion… 'And what did Sam do that caused your death? How was he to blame?'

'I was in love with a girl. Sam got her pregnant and though I virtually threw myself at her she'd have nothing to do with me. I couldn't even touch her. We lived in a fine town house… Flanders provided it for us. I was there as a guard to care for the girl because Sam disappeared. I thought it was my chance. I was there the whole time she was carrying that child. I thought of it as my own even though I'd never even held the woman's hand. I loved her. Completely loved her with my whole heart and I died because she was carrying Sam's child and they… the advisors and the priests thought that Sam was a demon and that Rey was carrying a the devil's child. So they took us both, they made me watch as they cut that baby out of her belly. They held it up wriggling for her to see and they left her there with her stomach ripped open… bleeding onto the floor… and they disposed of the baby. I don't know how long Rey lived for, but they took me and they sliced my throat open and left me pumping my blood onto the stone floor… and why? Why? Because Sam ran off and Flanders went after him, leaving us vulnerable, instead of protecting the mess he'd started. Yes I hate Sam. Yes I want him dead. He's a coward… and so is Flanders, but it's Sam… Sam who made me… made me _want_ him…' Albion turned and walked quickly away.

None of it made any sense! None of it at all, and when he was out of here he was going to sit Floyd down and get him to tell him the whole story. Babies, marriages? Priests? What the hell had Floyd been up to and how much of this was true?

Spencer got back to his knees and before digging down and pulling out more junk from the ground he blew cool air over his sore hands. The only

o-o-o

Rossi drove with Floyd sitting in the front and his window open. Floyd claimed that the fresh air stopped the queasy sickness he often got when travelling in a car and it also aired the vehicle out of the smoke which had been slowly filling Rossi's lovely new SUV. They didn't talk much today. Earlier Floyd had told Rossi to get the cops to chuck 'That cunting son of a whore…' off his land, but Rossi wanted to check it out first and make sure that they had everything right. Floyd had shouted, thrown things around the motel room, accused Rossi of trying to delay him again, and threatened to beat him into a grease smear on the floor. Rossi responded by pacifying Floyd and his tantrum with the promise that he'd do anything and everything to sort this mess out.

'I have to know firstly if we are right.' He told Floyd. He stood behind Floyd with his arms around him holding him tight. It might not have been the best thing to do, but it seemed to work. It was like pacifying a screaming child. 'When we have all of the cards on the table we will make our move. Going in half cocked isn't going to work. There are too many of them.' Dave could feel the heavy breaths Floyd was making, what Rossi didn't feel and maybe he would have been relieved if he'd realised, or maybe he would have been revolted, but Floyd didn't lean back into Rossi. He didn't press himself against him. Floyd finally told Rossi to let him go before he broke his arms and Dave did let go, but slowly and with some hesitation. 'Just stay calm.' Dave told him. 'Have a smoke, have a drink… do what you need to do to keep your head straight. They've been there a while now, a day or two more isn't going to make any difference.'

Floyd now pulled away from Rossi and turned to look at him. 'You think they're dead.' It wasn't a question and Dave's lack of reply didn't really help. 'They're not. I'd know.' Still Rossi didn't remark on this. He collected up their things and started to leave the room. 'You've given up on them.' Another statement.

Now Dave turned to look at Floyd, who though had slept most of the night was still looking washed out and sick. 'Sort yourself out.' Dave told him and that was about the last thing he'd said until now when Floyd suddenly stiffened in the chair and stuck his head out of the window.

'Pull over!' Floyd yelled into the wind and Dave did as Floyd requested with the assumption that Floyd was about to puke.

Floyd pulled of his seat belt and half crawled out of the window. There was temptation there from Dave to rub Floyd's trembling back and again it felt to him like he was comforting a child not a grown man, murderer, rapist and those thoughts put Dave's hands firmly back on the steering wheel. 'Are you going to be sick?' He spoke gently. Rossi could only imagine how debilitating motion sickness must be and how vulnerable it must make Floyd feel.

'No. I can smell something.' There was a pause and Floyd slipped back onto his seat. 'There was a sign down the road a mile or so ago saying that there is a rest stop up here. Pull into it. I want to check something out.'

Dave nodded, leaned over Floyd and strapped him in again. 'Are you going to tell me why?'

'No. You wont understand. I'm tired trying to explain myself to you. Just do it.' Floyd looked down at the strap across his middle and muttered something about feeling claustrophobic and unsafe in the hands of an old fart. Rossi ignored him, but started up the car again and made for the rest stop.

It was a diner, with a one pump gas station to the side. A few vehicles were parked out side, including a few trucks. Floyd asked Rossi to pull over somewhere near the road, somewhere concealed maybe… somewhere where you couldn't see the car from the diner. He then unclipped his seat belt again and stuck his head out of the window. 'The smell…' Floyd grumbled.

'What can you smell?' Rossi also had his window open but all he could smell was Floyd's cheroot smoke.

'Shit – shit, blood, piss… panic, fear, dirt, sweat. Something ugly.' Now Floyd looked at Dave and leaned over him and put his seat belt back on the way Rossi had done to him not so long ago. 'Stay here. Be ready to move if you have to. Are you armed?' Dave flicked back the hem of his jacket to show Floyd that _yes_ he was armed and he was ready. 'Don't interfere. Whatever you see… don't interfere.' Floyd pushed open his door and was about to exit when Rossi spoke again.

He had a concerned look on his face. He knew what sort of person Floyd was and he couldn't sit here and watch murder. 'I can't allow you to break the law.' He told Floyd. 'So whatever it is you have planned better be legal. We are trying to resolve this legally remember?'

'I might have to knock a few heads together. You don't want me to kill anyone, then I wont just for you, but not because I don't think I should, more because I need you on my side.' Floyd smirked. 'I'm using you. I'm dragging you into my shit for my own gain. I just thought you should know that. Now sit, get ready to leave if you need to… but don't get involved yet… not until I call for you.'

Dave sat back into his chair and sighed. 'Get it done then.' He said.

Floyd slipped from the SUV and closed the door gently. He then disappeared from Dave's view as he hunkered down and put his fingers to the ground. All seemed safe. No earthquakes due. He stood now and moved slowly towards the trucks. Now Dave could see him. Floyd moved slowly, but with practiced purpose. He knew what he was doing, Rossi had _no_ idea what the hell Floyd was doing though. He was running his hands along the side of the first truck and then smelling his fingers. He then moved along to the second one, a beaten up old dark blue open back truck and Dave could see that slightly relaxed walk of Floyd's suddenly change. His pace picked up… His hands touched the side of the van, the tyres and then he moved to the back. Now the touching stopped and Floyd just stood there looking. He leaned in closer looking at dried smears of blood. He was now slightly hidden from Dave's view so he didn't see Floyd lick some of the blood away and he didn't see a dark strange look come over Floyd's face. There were other things smeared there too. A smudge of something which looked like mud, but smelt and tasted like shit. There was a strong smell of urine too. Floyd backed away from it, turned and jogged back to the SUV. He pulled open the door and slid back in again.

'Sam.' Floyd whispered as he cranked up the window again. Dave asked what Floyd meant and he explained that Sam had left traces on the van, he'd left bits of himself there. 'Blood on the back fender, urine on the wheel and shit smeared over the rear gate so that truck has come from where he is and not that long ago either. We need to wait for the driver to return and I'll go and ask him some questions. You stay here.'

'And how do you know Sam did that to the truck?' Oh Rossi wished he'd not asked.

'Because I know what Sam's shit tastes like and his blood… it has a slight floral aftertaste. Difficult to explain unless you're an expert at shit licking.' Floyd grinned. 'Not that I'm saying I am, but… hey… Spencer tastes of honey and his shit…'

'Stop… I don't want to know how you know this.'

'Then I will keep that a secret and you'll go to your grave never knowing. Actually it's from laundry and cleaning toilets. Bits get behind my fingernails…'

'No…' Rossi muttered.

'No? OK it's from when I lick their pretty little arses… yum…' Floyd's grin broadened.

'Floyd… please stop trying to revolt me. It's worked. I'm quite repulsed.' Rossi put his head out of his window and sucked in some cool air.

And so they sat again in silence with Floyd picking at the skin around his finger nails and Rossi trying to get vile images of Floyd out of his head. It was about half an hour later than two men walked around the truck and stood by the driver's door talking. Floyd patted Rossi on the leg and nodded. He put a finger to his lips and gave him the _stay_ gesture you'd give a dog. 'I'll call if I need you. Otherwise stay here.' And before Dave could protest Floyd was out of the SUV and walking quickly towards the two men.

'Hey!' Floyd called out and put up a hand in a small greeting. 'I wonder if you can help me.' He gave a lopsided and tired smile to the men as he breathed in their filth.

Both men turned to look at him. Both men were broad and tall and both looked dirty and unkempt. 'We don't give lifts.' One of them said. He was wearing baggy jeans and a checked shirt which was open over a grubby vest.

'I just was curious about something. I wonder if you can help.' Floyd stood firmly in front of the man who had spoken. He seemed to be the one in charge. The other man wasn't needed for now. 'Are you from that place up the road?'

The other man moved in. He had a tattoo of a naked woman on his bare arm and no shirt over his grubby vest. He still said nothing but it was better for Floyd that he came in closer. 'What do you want to know for?' The first man asked.

'I've business with someone there.' And again the vest and tattoo stepped in closer.

The guy in charge spoke again. 'You don't look familiar…' Though maybe he did? There _was_ something familiar about that face… about the way this man was standing. 'Or…'

'Yeah… or… but…' The man to the side had moved again and now it was easy for Floyd to strike out and hit him fast and hard on the jaw with a jab which broke the man's face and floored him without even a sound of surprise. 'So…' Floyd carried on as though nothing had happened. 'You've been on Iolanda's land and I don't want you to deny it, because I can smell him on you. He smells of sickness and boiled onions. He tastes good with roasted garlic. Who pissed on your truck?' Floyd finished.

The man looked straight to the wheel Sam had urinated on and then back to Floyd. He didn't even look down at his bleeding buddy. 'The dog.'

'Gary, do you mind me calling you Gary? It's not your name, but I feel I should call you something. Gary, he's not a dog… at least not to you he's not. He's Sam. Sam pissed on your truck. Come with me… step over Billy, he wont be caring about much for a while, but come look at this…' Floyd grabbed _Gary_ by the sleeve and escorted him to the back of the truck. 'This here is blood. This is Sam's blood and you're going to tell me how Sam's blood got on your truck, but you're going to tell me after I've shown you this here… shit… Sam's crap, now I think that's a very odd thing to find on a truck don't you? I need you to sit down on the ground right here and I'll stand in front of you ready to kick your disgusting brains out of your head if you lie to me… and I'll know if you do. I'll know if you lie to me. I can smell lies.'

Gary didn't protest. He wasn't sure if he'd ever seen this man before, but he had a horrible feeling that he had. Years ago when he was a teenager… this man had come to the camp when the dog was still a pup and he'd beaten the living shit out of Iolanda. He'd just seen how quickly he'd taken out his driving companion and had no reason or want to be smeared over the back of his truck the way Sam had smeared his shit there. He quickly went down to his knees and then to his backside. He sat with his knees up and his arms wrapped around his shins. Floyd stood over him and looked down. 'Did you know Sam had pissed on your truck?'

'Yes. Iolanda caught him… He started to kick him and that other guy, The Doc moved in and tried to stop it. All hell broke loose between them and Iolanda kicked the shit out of The Doc. I don't think he'll be wanking off any time soon.'

Floyd's hands twitched slightly. This was good news. Maybe. At least they were alive and well enough to protest. At least they were looking out for each other. 'The blood, the shit?'

The man shook his head. 'The d…. the… Sam hit his head on the fender. But I was watching the fight between Iolanda and the Doc. He smacked him a few times, but nothing hurts that man… I don't know what Sam was doing. I had my back to it… to… to him.' He quickly corrected.

'Nothing hurts that man?' Floyd hunkered down in front of his Gary. 'I hurt that man. I took his head off once and ate his brains. They say that when you do that you take on some of the knowledge of the person you're eating. Do you think that's true?'

'I'm sure it is if you say it is.' Gary confirmed. He didn't want to have his head mashed by this monster who he had a very good idea who it was… 'You're Flanders aren't you? Iolanda is waiting for you. He's got armed men.'

'It's a trap.' Floyd said. 'He keeps leading me into traps. Why can't the fucker just come out and smack me one? What's he afraid of, Gary?'

Gary took a deep breath. 'About ten years or so ago, when Sam was a kid, you came to the camp. I was a driver for the trucks we had there… well you came in and you tore Iolanda a new arse hole. You tore him apart in front of all of his followers.'

'This is revenge?'

Gary said nothing, but looked down at his knees.

'I want you to drive me back into the camp.'

Gary said nothing, but carried on looking down at his knees. Iolanda scared the crap out of him. Flanders scared the crap out of Iolanda… this man was not someone you refused and so slowly Gary nodded.


	68. Chapter 68

68

Floyd was about to drag Gary over to the SUV and have him talk to Rossi, but he heard the car door close and he could hear Dave's booted feet crunching on the ground behind him. Floyd felt a dizzy sort of excitement. It was almost like when you see the man you're going to have standing there in the dark of a run down alleyway… it was that small rush of adrenaline that came with the tingling of the skin. He could hear Dave saying something but Floyd was lost just for a few moments in that wonderful sweet perfect world where nothing could go wrong. He saw out the corner of his eye that Dave was bending down over the unconscious man and still his mind wouldn't pull back away from the thought of going in and killing Iolanda in front of all of his men. 'He's fine.'

Dave looked over at Floyd. His voice was gravely and hard. His voice was wrong. Dave nodded and looked closer at what was going on here. There was a guy with an expression on his face that he'd rather be anywhere than where he was standing and Floyd was standing in front of him, the tip of his boots over the front of the man's own boots… Floyd's arms at his side and his nose almost touching the other man's. It was a very extremely threatening position and the man was just standing there doing nothing. Floyd was standing doing nothing but taking quick sharp breaths.

'This is Gary.' Floyd muttered and Floyd himself could tell that his voice was taking on that muffled pre-sex tone yet that wasn't what he wanted here. 'Gary works for Iolanda and he's going to help us get Spencer and Sam out of that place, aren't you Gary?'

Gary had not moved or even twitched and he still didn't.

'Step back from him and we can go somewhere and talk.' Dave not put a hand on Floyd's shoulder.

Slowly Floyd forced himself to turn to look at Rossi. His blood was up. Every nerve in his body was tingling. He could rip Dave apart as easily as he slap away an annoying insect and Floyd knew that he had to control it. He needed this for later. No point in spending all of his energy on someone who was actually trying to help. He sucked in air over his teeth and took a step back away from the man. To Floyd this was an act of extreme mercy… to Dave it was like bringing a rabid dog under control. Floyd ground his teeth and stepped back yet again. He felt sweaty and slightly shaky and now that churning in his stomach. It was like showing a drug addict his poison and then hiding it behind your back. Floyd was using immense amounts of effort to keep under control and not start screaming and tearing. 'I will…' Floyd started to say and then quickly turned his back on Gary and grabbed at Dave. 'It's like a fire burning in my brain. You must understand that.'

Dave nodded. 'He had no idea what Floyd was talking about, but this wasn't the time or place to start asking. 'We can ask Gary some questions about the layout of the place. There might be a way in without having to kill people. I might be carrying a gun but I don't want to go in shooting.'

'You'd not get far if you tried.' Gary's gruff and wobbly voice spoke. 'He has armed guards and they don't carry pea-shooters. They've got automatic rifles. No one can get in there. It's locked tight.'

Floyd turned again and now his posture had changed. He was standing with his feet together and seemed to be leaning back on his heals slightly, the palm of his hands had disappeared into tightly clenched fists. 'You _think_ that a fucking gun can stop me, Gary?'

Gary slowly shook his head. He actually doubted it would. 'I was just letting you know.' His voice quavered in panic. 'I wasn't meaning that you'd find that to be a problem.'

Again Floyd spun on Dave… He wanted to tell him how desperate he was getting. Actually he wanted to sit on a leather couch in a cool doctor's room and tell him how he didn't think he could live if he lost Spencer… even being away from him for a relatively short period of time was making him feel out of control and ill. He wanted to tell someone that although Spencer drove him to alcoholic binges and chainsmoking that he really and honestly couldn't survive with out him. Spencer was the air he breathed. He was the water in his coffee… the hand that held his dick… he was everything. Dave wouldn't understand that being without Spencer made his so MAD that he wanted to kill… kill anything and it didn't matter who or what. Being without Spencer was like someone had turned on a switch in his head which stopped him from keeping control of his actions. He could blame Spencer very easily for most of the recent killings. There was the matter that most of that was bullshit, but right here and now that's how Floyd felt. Sam was different. Sam was the comfortable pillow you'd lay on when you had a migraine. Sam was something to pet and kick. Sam was something to masturbate into and Sam was OK to look at. He could live without Sam, the same as any person would survive the loss of something they liked and felt comfortable with, but it was a long way from the total loss Floyd felt when he didn't have Spencer.

'We were going to go via the legal route.' Rossi spoke as he looked at the odd ticks and twitches rattling through Floyd's body. 'Gary, are there children on the site. Are there drugs?'

Gary nodded and Floyd snorted a small derisive laugh. 'We don't have time to go the legal route.' Floyd told Rossi. 'You would have to get proof that something is going on and then try to get a warrant to get on the land…'

'The land is yours.' Rossi reminded him. 'You have a legal right to enter.'

'Muh.' Floyd moaned and kicked out at the unconscious man. 'I _don't_ want to _do_ – it – like… THAT!' Floyd shouted at Dave. 'It's not gonna fucking work! They'll put holes in you… I can't do this… alone. The whoreson will kill by Babes.' Now Floyd spun to face Gary again and smacked a fist into the van door next to his head. 'What! What! WHAT?' Floyd howled and spat into his face. 'You want me to go in there and get worked over by that arsehole! You _want_ That?'

Gary said absolutely nothing. He could see something horrible in Flanders' eyes. It was like a red oil slick moving behind his eyes… it made Gary for the fist time in his life want to get to his knees and pray to the Virgin Mother for help.

'Floyd…' Rossi wanted to pull him back away from Gary before there was bloodshed. He could see the way Floyd was tensed up. He could almost smell the adrenaline pumping through him. 'We will get Gary here to draw us a map.'

'I can do that.' And quick side steps got Gary out of Floyd's immediate reach. 'I've paper in the van and a map. I can show you where the place is.'

'Don't trust IT!' Floyd raged now… control was slipping. 'He's one of Iolanda's bitches. He'll lie. He'll fucking lead us into hell. Fuck him. Screw his head off his fucking shoulders… I'm going. I'll drive. Get back in the SUV. Gary fuck… fucking Gary… get in the…' Floyd felt his head spinning and the world taking on a strange look… it was like someone had put a wash of red over everything. It was too late. Floyd knew in his heart that it was too late. He turned again and looked at Gary. 'Does Iolanda know why Sam urinated on the truck.'

Gary said nothing.

'Was this planned?'

'I…I have no idea. If it was I wasn't told about it.'

Floyd pressed the heel of his hands into his eyes and swayed. 'Then we go now.' And he walked on slightly stiff legs back to the SUV. Rossi followed with Gary being pushed in front of him. He wasn't taking a hostage, he was trying to prevent Gary from causing more prolems.

o-o-o

Iolanda stood at the gate with one foot on the lowest of the metal bars. Sam was at his heel as always. Spencer only worked half a day in the fields. Black had come back and reported to Iolanda that he thought that Reid was weak and needed more time to build up to full time work. There was a lot of promise but not if he was dead on the first day. He also reported the deep and dangerous animosity Bern seemed to have towards Spencer. This was why when it all started to happen, that Spencer was sitting on a log rubbing at his aching muscles and Albion Black was sitting there with him, a slight snarl on his face. 'You think you're special because he dragged you with him?' Albion asked. 'Well that makes you more Special than Bern. He was never dragged back.'

Spencer wasn't sure what this odd man was going on about now and didn't bother asking. He was too tired and maybe too grateful to be away from the field to ask question which might annoy.

'And I know… you see I can see an aura around people. They have like this weird light and I can tell by the eyes. Bern was never dragged back like we have been. Though I can tell that you've been brought back by Floyd more times than I have.'

Now this got Spencer's attention. 'What do you mean by _dragged back_?'

Albion's face hardened. It looked both angry and sad. 'You know, when you die and you know you're dead because for a brief period of time all the pain and anguish has gone. There is nothing but the sound of running water and the smell of freshly cut grass, and then it cracks, falls apart and you think you're going insane because you're throw into a different life… and you know you've lived in this world so far, but you also know that you've not. You have memories from before, but you have a whole load of new ones too. That's what I mean. Dragged back again. He's done that three times to me. Brought me back from the dead and why? I have no idea. It's not that he liked me all that much. It's not that he had some freaky thing going on with me like he did with Sam, but he still thought it necessary to drag me back to his world. I just wanted peace. I wanted to be a soldier and…' Albion shook his head. '…I was going to say _fight for my king_ but how lame is that when your king is insane?'

Spencer said nothing to this person who seemed totally lost.

'You see, you're not so special are you?'

o-o-o

Sam looked at the gap under the gate and he looked at how high it was. It was a five foot gate and there were twists of razor wire along the top, but there was a gap under it. Not a big gap, mind… but big enough for a lithe and underfed dog to slip. He just had to wait for Iolanda to be distracted long enough to do it. He waited patiently. Iolanda was talking to a group of people who were saying that pretty soon the snow would be here and they would all freeze again. They wanted to know that Iolanda had planned. He'd told them the previous winter that he'd have a barn constructed and they'd live in it for the duration, but there was no barn. There was still the same as the year before and a quarter of them had died of the cold or because of weather related things. They wanted reassurance that Iolanda had things in hand for this year. They didn't want to starve or freeze again… Iolanda was telling them that it wasn't as bad as they were remembering it and he'd had trouble with the idea of the barn, but would sort something out before the first snow. They didn't have to worry.

Sam slipped his feet under the gate.

Iolanda told them that although the barn wasn't possible he had made sure that for this winter that there was plenty of food stored and he was looking into getting some temporary buildings brought in. A barn would be too difficult to heat. They needed something more cosy and enclosed.

Sam slid under the gate up to his hips.

Iolanda told them that there was absolutely nothing to worry about and they were causing panic and a fuss about nothing at all. They're still here… they survived last year so how can it be so bad.

'Two of my children died. One because there was no food and one because of the cold.'

'They are your brats, not mine. Look after your own and stop moaning. If you can't keep your kids safe then don't bloody well have them.'

The woman paled and stepped back. She'd not chosen to have children. It wasn't her fault! But she didn't say that. She didn't remind Iolanda that her children were his too.

Sam grabbed the bottom rail of the gate and pulled, and pushed, and slid then rest of him under the gate. Sam didn't move though. He just lay there trying not to alert Iolanda that he'd got out of the first line of his defences and pretty easily too!

'We need to know that we'll be able to keep warm. We need to know what we come before the dogs.' A grey haired man said.

Sam went ridged with fear. Would Iolanda look for him when he hear that word 'dog', but he didn't. It was the yapping black monster dogs that Iolanda looked over at and Sam stood up and Sam took a few small steps until he was shielded by the hedges and only then did he break out into a long pelting run down the side of the road. He took maybe twenty steps in the road and then jumped over the grass verge and disappeared into the woodlands at the side. Sam ran… and Sam didn't think he would ever be able to stop running. He sort of listened out for his name being called but heard nothing… For now he felt like a great stag whipping its way easily and happily through the forests. Sam was free! He doubted it would last but for now he was free.

Spencer saw what Sam was doing. At first he thought Sam was just messing around but he could now see that the damned boy was making an escape attempt right under Iolanda's nose. It would be noticed soon and Spencer wanted to give Sam the chance to get away. He had to distract Iolanda some more. He had to protect Sam as best he could. Spencer jumped up from the log and turned to Albion. 'I believe you. I believe that he dragged you behind him like a bit of trash, but that's not what he does to me!' Spencer was shouting now. 'He chose me! He wants me!' Then in a much quieter voice. 'I'm sorry.' And he clouted the young man on the chin. At least that's what was meant to happen, but Alby put an arm up and blocked it easily. It didn't matter. A fight was a fight. On this occasion who took the first blow really didn't matter. It was enough for Iolanda to stop talking to the people at the gate and move forwards towards the two men rolling around on the ground, hissing insults at each other and trying to thump, kick and bit… Spencer was quite good at hair pulling… nothing Reid was doing was going to cause all that much harm but Albion wasn't pulling his punches.

'Now, now boys!' Iolanda laughed. 'Are we laying bets?' And in this way Spencer kept Iolanda's mind away from Sam for nearly fifteen minutes… it was long enough for Iolanda not to know when Sam was last at his heels. When did he last see his dog and where was he now.

Once the fun fight was over and Spencer was on his back with Albion sitting across his chest and everyone shouting 'kill kill kill the fuck.' Only then did Iolanda start looking or his dog… and by now Sam was running through a small stream and barking out in delight.

Yes they will probably come after him… they might even shoot him in the back or head as he ran, but they would have to find him first. For now Sam was free and happy as a lark.


	69. Chapter 69

69

Gary drew a rough map. He told Rossi that he wasn't sure of the scale but they could figure that out for themselves when they arrived. He told them about the piles of cars set into a maze. He told them about the electricity running through the high fence around the main camp. He said about the dogs… 'I've seen those animals tear into people. Iolanda arranges bating sessions, but…' Gary shrugs and lets them both imagine what the dogs are baited with. It causes Rossi to shudder slightly but Floyd has long ago lost the ability to think about anything other than getting to the camp and killing everything in sight. The matter of the dogs was nothing.

Gary put little x marks on the map to show where the main guards would stand. He marked in the path through the woods which led to the fields. He showed them where Iolanda's trailer was and where the dorm room was for the majority of the men, women and children.

Floyd snatched it up, ripped it to pieces and threw the bits to the wind. 'Fucking liar.' Floyd snapped at him. 'You might want to stand here and listen to this shit but I'm going now. Do what you want Dave.' Floyd smacked a fist onto his own forehead. 'I've had it up to _here_ with this BULLSHIT and I'm NOT going to stand here listening… small voices… are whispering in my head and telling me what to do… voices I trust…_WHY_ would I even…' Floyd stopped talking, spat into Gary's face and snapped his teeth together. 'Fuck you both! Go suck on a fucking goat… go… go fucking fuck on… a… just fuck of!' His voice ranged from a whisper to a howl… his tone went from conspirator to madman and Rossi stood back, pulling Gary with him. So far Floyd hadn't killed the man. Dave wasn't feeling all that reassured that it was going to remain that way for long. 'What are you fucking looking at? Want a bit of me do you? Think I'm some – whore – whore – son of a bitch fucking BITCH!' And with that Floyd turned his back on his two conscious companions and started to run out of the small parking area and down the road towards where he could smell Sam.

'Christ Almighty.' Gary sighed. 'What the hell?'

Rossi placed a calm hand on his shoulder. 'He's worried about his… about Spencer and Sam.'

'He's fucking insane; that's what he is. How has he not killed you yet? Why didn't he kill me? What the hell is wrong with him? That's not just normal worry – that's some kind of… damn – I know what the hell that was.' Gary swept Rossi's hand of his shoulder. 'A personality disorder of some kind? A psychotic outburst? Break… what the hell?' He now stepped away from Dave a bit further.

'Get your friend, take that truck and drive. Don't look back. Don't come back. Just drive.' Dave then held out a small business card. 'When you've gone as far as you can… call me.'

Gary snorted a laugh. 'Far enough? Far enough so Iolanda can't get me? That's funny, Dave. That's really fucking amusing. Flanders might not have killed us today, but he'll come for us. I could see it… I could see that red madness in his eyes and it's going to be a race against him and Iolanda. I've betrayed the man.'

Dave didn't agree or disagree, he just nodded and walked back to the SUV. He'd pick Floyd up on the way. He was hoping that Floyd would run the energy and frustration out of himself and at least Gary and his friend were reasonably safe – for now.

o-o-o

Sam kept on running. He didn't feel the brambles ripping at his legs and he didn't feel the things swiping at his chest and face. He pushed things out of the way when he could, but most of the time he just ploughed through it. He listened out for the sound of dogs but heard nothing. He listened for his name being called or for gunfire and heard nothing. It was just him. Just him and the trees and woodland animals.

There was a small lake. Along the edge Sam was standing on were the footprints of animals who had come to drink at the water. It looked beautiful and clear and clean. It looked like the sort of place you would take your little rowing boat out onto and sit back and look at the sky. Sam would, if it had been another world and time, come out here at night and just look at the sky and wish and hope that one day he'd be a star in that sky too. Today though it was still daylight and there was no boat and Sam couldn't swim… at least he didn't think he was good enough to risk going swimming on his own, so he kept the little dream of what he'd like to do and he kept jogging.

Spencer saw him go. Sam knew that. Spencer saw him and said nothing… That was nice of Spencer to do that. That was brilliant! That showed what a damned good egg Spencer was. Sam felt tears running down his face now. All those times he'd pushed Spencer away and accused him of things and maybe Spencer wasn't so bad after all. Sam stopped running and looked up at the sky through the trees. It was raining now. He could feel the wetness landing on his face and cooling him down. He was hot… much too hot and he felt sick and sad and now it was getting dark and Sam was getting more than a little bit scared.

Why had no one found him yet? Why hadn't Floyd found him?

A noise behind him. Sam spun around but there didn't seem to be anything there.

'Monsters waiting for me… waiting for the dark. I have to outrun them.' He turned again, now not sure which direction he'd been going in and he started to run again. The rain was only light, but it was the sort of rain that gathered on the leaves and then splattered down on you in giant splat of ice cold water. The sudden ice cold drops made Sam yelp in surprise and stop again, spinning and looking for who just did that. 'I know you're there!' He shouted into the darkening woods. 'I know!' And he turned again to orientate himself and then went down to his knees, put his head in his hands and howled like a lost child. He cried out for Floyd, he cried out for Spencer… He cried out for anyone to come and find him and make him feel safe. He didn't care who it was. He didn't care even, really… too much… if it was Iolanda… he just wanted to feel safe and in the woods at night, alone, with monsters watching him with glowing eyes – well Sam was more than a little bit terrified. It hadn't occurred to him that it would get dark. He thought someone would have found him by now. He thought he would have found civilization by now, but there was nothing. Not even a candy wrapper to let him know that people ever came here… and now he didn't know if he was running in circles.

And he was hungry.

And he was thirsty.

And for the first time in his miserable life he cried for his mum. (not that he had one, but if he cried enough maybe one would turn up.) He didn't feel like the young man he was growing up to be. He didn't feel like he was a teenager ready to take on the world… he felt like a very lost and very scared child.

So he curled up next to the roots of a tree and wrapped his arms around his body and with his eyes tightly shut he waited until daylight and hoped that the light arrived before the monsters did.

o-o-o

Floyd ran like the hounds of hell were biting at his backside. Rossi was taking too long to make up his mind and Gary wasn't worth shit, so he had to do this alone. It was worrying that things were effecting him so badly, that his control was slipping so much to the point that the only thing he could think of was fucking Spencer and beheading Iolanda… not necessarily in that order. The panic to rescue Sam had left him. Floyd knew that Sam wasn't there any more. Either Iolanda had released him or Sam had got away. Floyd also knew that this wasn't the direction Sam was coming in… the gate, only a mile ahead… only a mile and now Floyd stopped and crouched in the road. He placed his fingers there and closed his eyes and tried to push away the lust, hate, anger, rage, love… all emotions which were threatening to force him to make mistakes… He took deep breaths and then slowly opened his eyes and looked.

'Fuck off.' He said to the vision standing in front of him. 'I'm trying to work here and you're distracting me.' He knew that the person wasn't real. It was yet another projection onto his eyes. As he moved his head the person stayed there… like a sepia picture, washed out… ancient lover. 'Leave me the fuck alone!' Floyd lashed out at the nothingness and it flickered but didn't go away. 'What do you want?' But this wasn't anything real and it didn't answer him. 'Drew, it is Drew isn't it? Look mate, you need to get over it and fuck off. I never wanted you. I just used you. I took you on a couple of dates so I could get close enough to molest you and eat your sister. Is that what you wanted to hear?' The image flickered and wavered and Floyd rubbed at his eyes a bit and Drew was gone. 'Fucking hell. Am I going to be haunted by every damned kill I've made? I'm going to have a fucking long white beard and only be a tenth of the way through if that's going to happen.' Floyd wiped hair off his face where it had stuck to his sweat and started again to concentrate on the road. There was nothing dramatic to see, but he could see the haze of Sam's scent drifting. He was still going the right way, not that there'd been another way to go, but it was good to check up. Floyd put out a hand and waved his fingers into the golden bands of scent. He wrapped some around his fingers and put his hand to his face, licking slowly at his hand. 'Roses… my sweet rose scented Sammy.' He sighed and took off again with a long loping run. He thought Rossi would have caught up with him by now and Floyd wondered if Dave had delayed to let him get there first. Maybe… 'Dave has a cunning plan.' Floyd spat into the wind as he ran.

o-o-o

Spencer sat shivering. Iolanda was standing over him now shouting at him. 'You raise your hands to my boys and you are raising your hands to me! You do not fight!' Spencer thought of the whip Bern carried and of the slaps and punches he'd taken and wondered if that counted too. 'Black… get up and get cleaned up. You're a disgrace! Bickering like little girls. I've never seen fighting like it! You'll be going into training as soon as there's a slot. I'll make a man out of you even if it kills you.' Iolanda put a hand out to his side and clicked his fingers. Iolanda looked down and saw the ground. He spun in a quick circle. 'Where the fuck is the dog? Dog to me!' He yelled out. Well the game was over. The man knew that Sam was missing, but he didn't know how long he'd been missing or when he was last at his heel. Spencer stood on shaking legs, scratched at his neck and ran fingers through his hair nervously. He crossed his arms over his chest and scratched at his arms with broken ragged fingernails… he jiggled from foot to foot and sniffed and then sneezed. He wiped at his nose with the back of his hand and then rubbed at his nose with his fingers… Eventually Iolanda stopped looking for obvious signs of Sam and turned to Spencer again. 'Where is he?' Iolanda stepped up to Spencer so that their noses were almost touching. Spencer could smell his rancid breath and rotting lungs. He could smell the decay and death on the man. Spencer knew he was going to be asked this question. He knew it would come to this if he wriggled and made himself look obvious for long enough. Spencer knew that Iolanda would presume that Spencer knew where Sam was. He looked quickly towards the maze of cars and then back at Iolanda again.

'I don't know.' Spencer whispered back, but his words didn't matter. Iolanda pushed Spencer back away from himself.

'Search the cars! Every damned one of them. Pull them down if you have to and if you can't find the little cunt, burn them!' He turned to Spencer who was now staring at the cars and jiggling and trying to look panicked… He'd done this enough… he should be able to act the panicking idiot now when he needed to.

'Sam…' Spencer mouthed the word.

'You planned this?' Iolanda pulled out his handy whip and walked towards Spencer. 'Did you fucking plan this?'

'NO! When do I get to talk to Sam? I couldn't have planned his if I wanted to! I wanted to stop him, but…'

'But? But what? Why didn't you stop him.'

Spencer stood there looking worn out and bedraggled. It looked as though if someone had blown on him he would have fallen over. 'I didn't stop him because I wanted him to get away from you and your bullying vicious… controlling ways. I wanted him to be free from you or die trying and I still do. I hope you don't find him.'

Iolanda smirked. 'In a way, I hope I don't either… then I'll burn him out. I want to hear his screams when he realises what he's done. I want to smell his flesh cooking… my… I've made myself feel hungry! Boys! Lock this son of a whore in the lock up again and put a dog in there with him. I don't want either fed. I'll put them in the baiting ring later. Collect your coins together! Chose a winner… And make sure they're both secured. I don't want them killing each other before tonight. I just want Spencer here to spend some time looking into the face of the creature who is going to kill him.' He looked at Spencer again. 'I hope you think this was worth it.'

Spencer spat into Iolanda's face. He was going to die. How that happened didn't really matter any more. He'd helped Sam get away. He'd given him time… When would Iolanda realise that Sam isn't in the maze? It didn't matter. Sam would be away by then. Far away. The clumsy booted kick to his stomach didn't bother him.

o-o-o

Floyd hunkered down with his back to a tall hedge. The other side of it was a tall fence. He could hear the humming of power passing through it. How could this place be thought of as a place people want to be. Can't anyone driving past see that this is a prison? Can't they smell the shit and the fear and the hate bubbling up from the ground? Can't they hear the shouts and the cries of people and children… Children not being real people of course… Floyd's intention had been to run through the gate and pull Iolanda's head off, but now he sat there in confused contemplation. The smell of Sam carried on past the gate in the other direction. Sam… real Sam, not just his smell… Because Floyd could see the aura settling on the road. He could see panic, relief, fear… Sam ran away. Sam got out, but Spencer? Spencer is still inside there somewhere and Floyd was unsure of the situation. There was now the possibility that he could contact Sam, but he didn't. No point in dragging Sam back to this mess. All he had to do now was wait. Rossi would come along soon. He has to be arriving in the next few minutes. What the hell was he doing? Why hadn't Rossi past him in the road a while back? Damn the man… what was he waiting for? Was he expecting him to break in and rescue Spencer and then walk him back to the SUV?

He waited and waited and then thought that Dave might have gone back on his word… maybe Dave was contacting the cops. Maybe Dave was a stinking coward and wanted to try to do this legally. What the fuck! Floyd stood, placed a hand on the top of his head and gritted his teeth. He wished he had a hat on. Hats always helped him think… especially when he was feeling so damned confused. It started to rain. Good or bad, Floyd was undecided. What he did know was that it was getting dark, the dogs inside the compound were barking. He could smell smoke from a fire and he could smell food being cooked. Floyd thought he'd just sneak on in and join the party. There was another smell of burning too. It was like burning oil and rubber… something old and hot and plastic and metal… and of course rubber… something mechanical. Cars? Burning cars? A whooping sound of excitement. Men shouting to each other, but not worried shouts… it was happy excited noises. Floyd moved slowly towards the gate and peeped around the edge of the hedge into the compound. There was a fire. A smallish camp fire sort of thing which was where the smell of food was coming from. It was venison. The other fire was much bigger and in the firelight Floyd could see that they'd set fire to a huge pile of cars… people were running around waving sticks and shouting and hollering… 'Out, out… burn, burn… demon bastard! Burn The Sam… burn!' But Floyd knew that Sam wasn't there. Floyd smirked slightly and looked down the road the way Sam had gone. He was safe. He was maybe scared and hurt but he was safe from Iolanda. It was Spencer he had to worry about now. Floyd grabbed the catch on the gate and carefully pushed. The gate opened inwards and Floyd slipped in and left the latch off the gate, but closed it again. Then he walked happily across the camp towards the fire where people were cooking food and handing out bowls of something, and great slabs of bread with lumps of reddish meat sitting on it.

It was a happy occasion. Easy to sit and relax and enjoy and that's what Floyd did. He just sat down, accepted a bowl and some bread and meat and he ate in the warmth of the fire and smiled inwardly. He was here and eating their food and they didn't even realise. They were so full of trying to set fire to someone who wasn't there that they'd let down their defences. The only thing which bothered Floyd slightly now was that Spencer wasn't anywhere to be seen… and he couldn't smell him either.

It was a voice hissing in his ear which jolted Floyd out of his slightly lethargic and happy mind. 'They're burning him alive. It's what he deserves.'

Floyd knew that voice, but couldn't place it. If it was a voice he knew then it… He turned to look at the young man who was sitting next to him. 'Alby!' Floyd smiled. 'What in the name of fuck are you doing here?'

'I'm here to see your head put on a spike.' Albion replied.

'Oh!' Floyd smirked at him. 'That's nice. A shame you'll miss it.' Albion's neck was broken and his body a shadow before the poor bloke knew that Floyd had even moved. 'Why do people keep coming back to haunt me?' He put his hand out and took a mug of something warm and sweet from a smiling woman. Had she seen what he'd done to Alby? She might have done.

'Have you put your bets on yet?'

'Bets…' Floyd frowned.

'You look like a gambling man. Who do you think? The dog or that Doctor?'

'Ah… well… the dog.' Floyd grinned and then sat deep in thought as he sipped his coffee and wondered how long it would be before someone realised that the shadow behind him wasn't another log, but was of Apprentice Black. And how long it would be before someone realised that Floyd wasn't part of this little enclave.


	70. Chapter 70

70

Whilst Rossi farted around getting another map off Gary (who turned out to be Steve) and then took time managing to finally persuade Steve (Gary) and his bruised mate Brian to help him…

Floyd sat and ate food and chatted to the people around the fire. He moved where he was sitting to be away from the dead Albion and moved back away from the bright light… he sat in flickering shadows placing bets with the few items he had in his pockets. Not much… a few smokes and a couple of twists of something which would either kill the user or do nothing at all. Not many people here would know who he was… at least not recognise him. No one seemed to ask who he was and that seemed slightly strange, but maybe it meant that there was a regular flow of people coming to the place. A lad of about five sat on his lap for a while and smoked on a pipe and told Floyd that he was going to watch the fight later and it was his first. Little Tom was excited at the prospect of seeing The Trash Outsider being torn apart by one of the dogs. Maybe Tom was put off by Floyd's lack of excitement in return because he soon moved away and bothered someone else with his squeals of happiness. Floyd didn't care all that much that he knew he'd lose his bet. The fight they were all nattering on about wasn't going to happen. Floyd had a very different fight planned.

Floyd looked over to where the cars were burning… thick black stinking smoke billowed in the air before being dragged away by the wind which had started up. He could see that the excitement had died down a bit. The whooping and calling had stopped and people were just standing there looking. One particular back that Floyd could see belonged to Iolanda and Floyd could tell by that stiff posture that the man was angry. He was not even slightly amused by what was going on.

'Do you think they got him?' A young scruffy fair haired woman said as she sat down. Floyd turned to look at his new person. She was probably about twenty and was skinny as a whore.

'Nope.' Floyd replied.

'That Spencer is going to be in trouble if Iolanda thinks he lied to him.' She had a slight merry tone to her voice. 'You don't think the dog got burnt up in there? We listened for screams and it sounded like that sometimes, but Bill said it was just the cars.'

Floyd nodded and put down his mug of coffee. 'Bill would have been right. You like to hear people scream?'

She smiled. 'It's not that… it's just… well… he wasn't a person was he? He was just a dog. One of Iolanda's hell creatures.'

'Even hell creatures feel pain. You don't think they have a right to have comfort?'

It made her laugh. She spat her own coffee out onto the ground next to her and coughed and laughed for a while. 'Of course not!' She wailed. 'You're funny. Damn that was a good one.' She shook her head and gave Floyd a closer look. 'You from one of the outer camps?'

Floyd smiled back… no… Floyd grimaced back. 'That I am.'

'Are you the comedy act for tonight? God I hope not! I've already heard your best joke.' She placed a hand on Floyd's leg and gave it a squeeze.

'I'm not trying to be funny, young ma'm. Kindly remove your hand from my leg before I break your fucking fingers.' The hand was snatched away and the woman stood. She made no apology and Floyd didn't want or expect one. He now turned again to look at Iolanda who had moved from the burning cars and was gathering a crowd around him… They were getting things ready for the fight.

The light rain which had started earlier was now coming down heavily. No one seemed bothered by it. The fire hissed and spat as water fell into it, but a bit of rain wasn't going to put this out… like wise the cars would likely still be burning in the morning. If there ever was a morning. Floyd didn't know if there would be for him… but he would go down trying for it.

He sat looking at the huddle of people around Iolanda and wanted this to be over. He wanted his shit to be back how it should be. He wanted to get rid of this niggling feeling that Iolanda could possibly beat him… Floyd was unsure of what _THAT LOT_ had given him back. He didn't _feel_ any different. Actually his nose was stuffy and he had a bit of a sore throat, which could either mean that he was coming down with a cold or that he had syphilis again. Either wasn't a nice thought. The only time he like to feel his nose stuffed up was when he'd snorted something exotic or if he had a nose bleed. A common cold… I mean honestly… it's common. Not something Floyd would get.

A hand touched Floyd on the shoulder. 'You coming over? Don't want to miss this. It's going to be short and sweet.' Floyd nodded but didn't turn to look at the face. He didn't want someone like Gary to recognise him from somewhere… somewhen…

A bell rang.

Someone blew a whistle.

Dogs howled and barked.

Floyd got up from where he'd been mingling with the people and walked towards the bulging crowd, who seemed to be standing around two pegs fixed into the ground. Floyd looked at the pegs and then looked over at Iolanda. He took a deep breath and pushed his way through the crowd of people who could possibly in a few minutes be tearing him apart. He stood behind the bastard he was going to kill and prodded him on the shoulder.

'Don't touch me… whoever you are… you don't touch.' His voice was a snarl… an excited snarl. Floyd placed a hand on his shoulder and pulled him back. Iolanda spun and faced the person who dared touch him. He had every intention of letting this person follow Spencer to a blood death. He opened his mouth to say something and then clammed it shut. 'How the fuck did you get in here.'

Floyd thumbed over his shoulder. 'You left the gate unlocked. For all your security and electric fences and men prowling around in the dark with guns… I came in… killed Apprentice Black and ate food and drank coffee at your fireside. I had a small child sit on my lap. I had a fair faced woman chat with me. Nice food. Poached I assume.' Floyd smiled. 'Do you _know_ the trouble you will get in when I report that?'

Iolanda said nothing for a while. His mouth was slightly open and a look of complete amazement swept over his face. He crossed his arms… then unfolded them and put his hands in his pockets. He removed them and pushed some of his straggly hair off his face and then he wiped a hand over his mouth. 'We have things to discuss.' He finally joked.

Floyd laughed. He didn't laugh often but recently people kept saying such insanely stupid things. 'Discussions can be carried out here in front of the people. Or was this _discussion _ a metaphor for a steamy sex session? Either way I'm happy to _discuss_ anything with you right here. Firstly I need to discuss Sam. He's not here. He's gone. You can stop looking for him in the cars. Secondly I have to say that Spencer isn't yours to kill. He is mine by the rights of The Light and The Dark. They have both approved it. You can't waltz in and expect to remove it from me. It's not yours to take. Thirdly I am going to kill you for fucking with me and for bringing back a false haunt in the stupid belief that I would think it was Anthony.'

Iolanda put a hand up at this point. 'You see all of these people? See them! I give you leave to look around you and see.' Iolanda paused and allowed Floyd's eyes to flicker around the hostile looking faces. 'Well these are my people and they are loyal to me beyond everything.'

'Not they're not. No more than Sam was or ever was.' Floyd smirked at him. 'Bring me one person here who would rather live under your brutality then be free. You'd not have electric fences to guard you, or armed me to seemingly keep the place safe if your people were loyal to you. They are conditioned prisoners. I know you Iolanda. I trusted you to raise Sam and all he got was abuse. I know what you're like and what you do and some of it is fine work! I learnt how to skin from you. You were for a while maybe my mentor, but things can only go so far and now you've pissed me off. You shot me in the fucking head! You snatched Spencer and took Sam away… You can't even keep a little dog like Sam loyal, do you really thing that these people are going to stop me kicking your brains in?'

There were murmurs. A couple of people stepped forwards. One of those people Floyd recognised and it made his blood boil with anger. 'I will stop you.' Bern said.

Floyd pointed at him. 'You? You will stop me? You dirty little interloper who screwed his own sister? I don't think that you can stop me Bern… no more than you could stop Sam.'

'I will!' He howled and stepped forwards with his spiteful whip in his hand. 'I wanted you and you… you betrayed me!'

Floyd decided to ignore the thing. He was no more important to Floyd than… well… actually Floyd couldn't think of a comparison. Bern meant absolutely nothing to him 'I assisted you when you were in need. I told you not to follow. I told you to stay. You wouldn't. You made that choice. You decided to follow us… your death was expected. I didn't want you Bern. I have to admit that I didn't mind you rubbing against me like a mutt in heat but you never meant anything to me at all. Never will. Go away you silly child. If this is what you want… if you desire to stay here and live in shit and if this is your lot, then get out of my _fucking _face or the last bit of pleasure you'll ever get is me pulling your balls off.' Now Floyd turned back to Iolanda. 'You have anything better than this? You have a better threat than this? You want your people to think that you couldn't handle me yourself, that you're so weak and PATHETIC that you have to _get_ your Fuckering Fuckers to point bloody GUNS at me? Shoot me then! Fucking shoot me… let these people see what a damned coward you are. You beat on kids. You abuse the vulnerable. You stalk around places picking up people who have nothing and you offer them servitude. They're better off without you.' Floyd's eyes flicked to the side as something blurred in his peripheral vision. Spencer. His lovely battered and delightful Spencer was being attached to one of the spikes in the ground. A snarling dribbling monster of a dog was being pegged to the other. 'This little display isn't going to happen.' Floyd placed a hand on Iolanda's shoulder and shoved him out of the way. There was a collective gasp from the people standing wet and stinking around them, but no one moved in. Floyd heard his name being muttered. He heard more mumbling of voices which didn't sound happy, but he was here to get Spencer and getting Spencer was what he was going to do.

o-o-o

Sam sat under a tree and listened to the plop, plop, plop of the rain. He would have loved to have said that he wasn't scared out of his mind, but he was. There was no denying it. It didn't sound as though Iolanda was after him yet, but he knew that he'd find out that he was gone and he knew that he'd work out how he got away. They _would_ find him and they _would_ beat him… and string him up and cook him for dinner. This was a fact and he knew it. What he didn't know was how long it would take the man and his dogs to track him down. It might be later tonight, tomorrow… next week… a year or so from now, but eventually Iolanda would find him and he'd be dead. Actually the longer it would take Iolanda to find him the deader he would find himself.

He considered, for a fleeting moment, going back and apologising. Grovelling at his feet, kissing his toes and begging and pleading for his life. But it was only fleeting. Sam tried contacting Floyd, but all he got was scratching static and nothing else. He was gone. Floyd was dead… and gone and would never come back and now Sam knew that Iolanda would kill Spencer because he, Sam, had run away and the more he thought about this the more frightening everything became. There was no hope of forgiveness from Iolanda, Floyd would _never_ forgive him for running off and leave Spencer and Spencer himself was going to be dead. Sam was left with nothing. He had absolutely nothing. Not even his old roots of childhood to go back to.

So Sam cried for a while, like a small child who wanted his mummy and daddy to come and rescue him. He cried like a hurt animal. He cried like an abandoned baby and then something moved in the undergrowth, in the rain, in the dark and Sam thought that his heart had stopped. He thought that he had died right there and never even seen the drooling mouths of the dogs which were going to pull him apart, but no, he didn't die. He took a deep breath and stood. He stood shaking and shivering and making small whimpering sounds but the noise from the undergrowth didn't come back again; at least not from the direction he was looking.

Foot steps.

Oh… he was so sure of it. So damned sure.

He spun around, wiping his dirty hair off his face and tried to look out into the darkness, but there was nothing to see. He couldn't see much beyond his own nose now. It was too dark. The darkness had closed in so fast that it had an un-natural feel to it. It was almost as though someone had draped black cloth over everything. A stage set. Nothing real. Just something…

Foot steps again… off to his right. A twig snapping… leaves crunching.

'Who's there?' Sam whispered. A plop of rain fell on his shoulder making him yelp out and jump to the side. 'Who's there?' Still no answer, but he was so sure, so very sure that he could hear whisperings, the cocking of guns… snarling of dogs… Sam turned… he looked into the blackness and he ran. He fell and scraped his shins. He stabbed sharp thorns down the back of his finger and toe nails. He trod on stabbing sticks and knobbly stones and things swiped at his face and across his body. He grazed his knees, slashed his left hand on something and his nose ran… it dripped and ran and some got licked away by a fast pink tongue and some ran over his lips and down his chin to join the panicked drool which was escaping his mouth. He forgot about Floyd. He forgot about Spencer. He forgot about Iolanda… all he could think of was he was running and something was chasing him. His heart pounded in his chest. Blood rushed in his ears. He smacked his face on a tree, tripped and fell over a log, and when he thought something hot and sniffing touched his bare back, he started to scream. A long howl of a scream and he pushed up to his feet once again and ran a limping hobbling jog as the pain started in his side where the stitch appeared and he pressed his hand against himself just under his ribs and kept going and kept screaming and howling and suddenly the ground he'd been running on was gone. He carried on for a few steps like a cartoon animal and then he plummeted.

Sam felt something scrape his head and something dig into his back. He put out an arm to protect himself as he hit trees and branches and rocks and he heard his arm snap and he heard his head crack and then He lay there twisted and broken amongst the rocks and tree branches and for a second or two he heard dogs barking… then he was gone… Sam was sure that he could feel something tearing into him. He was sure that he could hear Iolanda's command to go in and finish… but for now he just lay there and his eyes looked up at the sky and the rain carried on pelting down on him.

o-o-o

Things hadn't worked out quite the way Iolanda had expected them too. He thought that Floyd seeing his lost lovers might have screwed his brain up, but he didn't seem to care. He thought that the men under his command would have jumped on Floyd and torn him apart, but they didn't. They certainly didn't; they backed away from Floyd rather than jumping on him.

Damn it riled Iolanda… this son of a bitch should still be battling his demons with Anthony. He should be sobbing over the loss of Bern… he should be on his knees begging… but this _bastard_ was walking through _his_ men, pushing them aside if they were too close and the mother fucker was rescuing the thing Iolanda wanted to see as a pile of bone, sinew, and blood… and now… well for the love of fuck… it looked like Floyd was going to get his prize and walk away with it.

'Stop him!' He cried out.

Floyd looked at Spencer's battered and sore face. He ran his fingers gently over it and gave small kisses on the end of Spencer's nose. He pulled the cord away which had been holding Spencer's hands behind his back and he undid the thing holding him to the peg… all the while he was whispering at Spencer. 'It's OK… I'm here now. It's going to be all right. I've got you now. I'm here. I'll not let him hurt you. Dave is out there somewhere. He's got our backs. You're safe now. All is good. Everything is going to be grand.' And he kept on as Spencer rested his head on Floyd's shoulder and no one, not a person moved in to stop him. No one dared. No one except a tall red haired man with random tattoos of random things in even more random places.

'If you take him…' This man said. '…if you do this, then we will die. We will die because we've not protected what is ours. If I try to stop you I will die because I've tried to stop you. You, sir, are putting us in a position where there is no happy ending.'

Floyd looked up at the man. He didn't recognise him. Which was good. This wasn't a past fuck or someone who had a grievance against him. 'Then walk away. I walked in here easily enough. No one stopped me. You really think that Iolanda can come after you all?'

'We don't all want to leave though.' Another voice called out. 'This is all we have. It's all we know. I've been here since I was a child. I can't live out there! It's all right for you to come in thinking you're saving us, but this is going to be our death.'

Floyd put his arms under Spencer's and pulled him to his feet. He wasn't sure if his love, his man… his property could stand and walk and if he couldn't Floyd would carry him out of here. 'I'm only here for this. You think I give a fuck about the rest of you? I know what Iolanda is. I know he can only stop me will bullets, but… hey… no one has opened fire on me yet.'

'I've not yet given the order.' Iolanda spoke. 'And maybe I wont… maybe I'll allow you to walk away with your cunt-boy, but I'll come after you. I'll come after you and I'll destroy everything you've ever loved… everything your boys have ever loved. I'll take, take, take until there's nothing left. My people are safe with me. I give them food…'

'You work us to the bones in the fields. You starve us, and beat us…' A small voice from the back called out. 'You let us freeze in the winter and then you serve up our bones in the cooking pot. Some of us are here because this is all we have ever known, but not all of us. I'd like nothing more than to…' There was a cracking sound and a gurgling and the voice stopped. Someone had stopped the protest. That would be the end of it. His bones _would_ end up in the cooking pot.

'Babes,' Floyd whispered now into Spencer's ear, 'can you run?' He got a nod as a reply. 'Then I need you to get up and back away. Get to the back, then get the hell out of here. Dave is out there somewhere. Go… go out of the gate and turn right. Keep going. There's a place just down the road. Wait for me.'

Spencer didn't nod back this time. 'I'm not leaving without you.' He muttered back.

'Yes you are. Get… go. Find Rossi, find Sam. For me. Please.' Slowly Spencer nodded and as Floyd move his arms away from him he swayed slightly but took a step to the side. Now Floyd had that sorted he turned to Iolanda. 'I'll fight you for him. Man to man. No weapons. Just us. If I win you drop this shit and leave my boys alone. If I lose… well… I'm sure you'll think of something to do.'

Iolanda didn't respond with words. He stood looking small and fat and malevolent. It was all the answer Floyd needed. He moved so he was shielding what Spencer was doing… one step at a time moving slowly away from Floyd, away from the growling dog and away from Iolanda.

Spencer walked slowly. No one seemed to want to stop him. If it was that no one cared or no one was brave enough, he didn't know and he wasn't going to ask. A large part of him needed to stay and see this through to the end, but Floyd had told him to go. Floyd wanted him out of the way, safe. Floyd didn't want him there as a distraction or something which can be used as a weapon. He pushed through three ranks of people and was now standing with a few stragglers. Still no one seemed to want to stop him, look at him, acknowledge that he was even there and for a moment Spencer wondered if he was… maybe he wasn't here at all. Maybe he was still kneeling in the mud looking into the maw of the dog that was going to tear him apart. Perhaps this was all in his mind… a curtain pulled over what was really happening so that he didn't have to face the reality. Another couple of steps back and someone now reached out and grabbed at his arm.

'He'll hunt you down.' A hissing voice of a young girl. She was maybe about ten years old, yellow knotted hair fell around her shoulders. She was wearing a pink party dress and rubber boots. She looked horribly familiar, but Spencer's brain didn't want to place this creature. He didn't want to imagine her teeth biting into him… he didn't want to remember that horror… He looked at her though and thought of picnics under a tree… he thought of whirling confusion and fear… 'He'll get you by your stinking balls and he'll rip you apart.'

But the words didn't matter. That was going to happen anyway. 'Princess.' He muttered and touched the top of her head.

'I loved you.' She wailed. 'I wanted you!'

Spencer shook his head. 'You're not real.' He looked over at the gate and started walked fast… behind him he could hear cheery shouts and yelps… he could hear a dog growling and snarling. He had to get out of here. He had to run, so he broke into a long loping run and legged to the gate. He pulled it open, slipped through the small gap, turned right and ran down the middle of the road.

He thought he'd gone deaf. He thought that something had happened which had stopped him from hearing. Maybe too many clouts around the head had finally damaged his hearing… or maybe he just didn't want to hear the screams and shouts and the sounds of dogs… not just that one dog, but many dogs… not getting closer, but attacking something the other side of the fence which hummed and buzzed and crackled as the powered zapped through it.

o-o-o

Dave drove carefully in the rain. He had a much better map now and he had support on the way. Steve sat next to him riding shotgun, the other was driving the truck behind them… The lights shuddered and flickered through the rain as they made their way to the gate of the complex. He'd wanted to do this legally. He'd wanted to get on the property and have something to wave in Iolanda's face and he needed people to know where he was going so if something happened they'd know where to find him. The lights picked up something coming towards them… a lumbering limping straggling form in the middle of the road. There was plenty of time to stop… whoever it was, was not moving very fast and Dave wasn't moving very fast, but he pulled over onto the grass verge, opened the car door and got out into the rain.

It wasn't until he was a few feet away from Spencer that he realised who it was. 'Reid?' Dave said as he reached out a hand. 'Are you all right?' But the question wasn't answered. It was Reid's face and there were Reid's panicked eyes and Reid's terrified face, but he didn't answer, he pushed Dave out of the way and said… 'The dogs…' And tried to keep running. 'The dogs…' Again now with a frantic horrified look on his face.

'Did you see Floyd?' Dave grabbed at Reid again and tried to get him to the SUV.

Spencer looked over his shoulders and shuddered. 'The dogs.'

And that was all he would say… He got into the car and sat shivering. Big wet tear drops crawled down his face. The only sound he made now was the hitching of his breaths as he curled up and sobbed.

o-o-o

Floyd got Spencer away, which was the whole reason he'd come here in the first place. He'd discovered that his love for dear darling Anthony was false, he'd killed that annoying pest Albion Black (who seemed to get dragged along behind him like a rusty tin can on a Just Married car… finally for good and this time no regrets… no false attachments. The arsehole was gone now… and Bern… a shame he'd not disposed of the little shit, but the felt really that it was Sam's job to do that.

Everyone was safe.

The job was done.

This time he'd not fucked up. He'd completed his mission. He'd done his duty to his boys. All was good.

Now all he had to do was kill Iolanda, which hadn't been part of the original order but was now tagged onto the end and that was fine with Floyd. He was going to kill him for Spencer, Sam for himself and for all those poor shits the bastard had abused… OK… not so much that last bit… who gives a damn about other people and people he didn't love or care for? Not his problem… If you can't run fast enough, expect to get caught. That's was his motto… it seemed now that it was coming back to smack him in the face, rather hard.

Iolanda wasn't a man of honour. Iolanda wasn't a man who wanted to get his hands dirty doing a job something else could do. He had no desire or wish or intention in fighting Flanders. He couldn't win. He knew that. The very idea of it was idiotic and if Flanders thought that he'd agreed to that, then more fool him. He let Spencer go. He could catch him again easily… he could catch the dog again… it was a aggravating and time consuming but nothing he couldn't correct. Fighting Flanders though? The man was touched by insanity if he thought that was going to happen. However, Iolanda stood there and he nodded and he watched Flanders ready himself and he let Flanders watch him remove his jacket and pass it to someone. Then he watched the expression on Floyd's smug, ugly, fucking tiresome face change to surprise and maybe fear… if it wasn't fear, Iolanda would tell this story and put that fear there anyway. He would tell everyone that Flanders stood there like a man defeated. He'd tell everyone that he tried to run away, that he pissed himself with fear… that there were tears running down his cowardly face.

'Dogs!' Iolanda called. 'Kill!'

Floyd didn't cry… of course he didn't cry! What the fuck? Who would believe that shit? No one. Maybe he looked concerned, but that wouldn't have been for him, it would have been for Spencer who was legging it away to the safe warm, cigar smelling arms of Dave. The expression of Floyd's face as the crowd parted and Iolanda stood back was one of complete resignation. But he didn't go down without a fight. Floyd killed the first dog that came for him… he smacked it on the jaw and nearly stuffed his hand down the animal's throat. The second he side stepped and caught it with a kick and a stamp… it yelled and whined and as it crawled Floyd brought his foot down on its back. This was done with the grace of a man who could hear many more dogs coming for him… and from all directions. One dog, Floyd managed to grab its forelegs and pull them apart and virtually off the animal as it pounced. But things became more difficult as something leapt from behind and to his side… An arm… the back of his leg… that soft place just above the hip, his heel… his hand… the back of his neck… and that crunching ripping at his throat… Yes he screamed… it was a battle cry though, not one of terror (as Iolanda would tell) He killed six dogs before they brought him to his knees. He killed another as it tore at his face. Another dog went down as Floyd flailed blindly around with his one free arm…

Then it was over.

Iolanda wished he'd thought to bring his camera.

He would have loved to have spent the rest of his miserable life watching his dogs kill the thing they'd been trained to kill. And yes, he lost some, but Iolanda could now stand proud. He'd killed the great Bastard Floyd Flanders… and he'd eat his heart and liver and the world would from now on be a much nicer place… All he needed to do now was to carry out his promise and destroy everything Flanders had every loved. He would begin with… well there wasn't much choice as Flanders didn't really love much, but Spencer and Sam were living on borrowed time. How much better to hunt than to have the thing sitting on your plate. It was refreshing.

He called the dogs off. There wasn't much left, but they'd been trained well and the heart was still there, a little bitten and nibbled but still there… the liver was another thing he took… 'I want that head on a fucking spike!' He called out as he walked through the carnage to his trailer.

**a/n: I shall continue this shortly in a new fic… Pb xox**


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